


Keeper

by MisterFahrenheit



Category: Persona 4, Persona Series
Genre: Detectives, Drama, F/M, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-07 01:01:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 48,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17950601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisterFahrenheit/pseuds/MisterFahrenheit
Summary: Five years have passed since the resolution of the Inaba incident. Souji Seta—shamefully unaccomplished and recently unemployed—agrees to have a meeting with a detective he used to know.Murder, mystery, intrigue, and a 1933 Cadillac.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I started this way back in 2011. I worked on it for about a month and it went way more smoothly than I thought it would. Life caught up with me and it was abandoned but this story has never really left my brain alone. I had so many ideas that it seemed a shame to let it stay dead forever and so I decided to revive the corpse of what was. 
> 
> My writing style has changed a lot since then so recent updates might even feel like they were written by a different person (for some reason I used to really, really like ellipses). I'll be skimming older chapters as I upload and fix any old mistakes I notice and wish I had never made. So, if you think about it, this is kinda like the director's cut of Keeper. If they made director's cuts of unfinished movies, of course. 
> 
> I started to read through this prologue and edit it as I went but I very quickly realized that I'd have to basically rewrite the whole thing in order to be satisfied with it. So I think I'll most of this intact and just focus on writing the actual new chapters.

_In which Souji Seta reflects upon life, reviles himself, and awaits an encounter…_

Souji Seta stared listlessly into the reflective depths of the coffee that had been delivered to him. He didn't know why he'd ordered it. The caffeine would only increase his anxiety. He drank coffee in the comfort of his own home but almost never ordered it. At one point in his life he took it with cream and sugar but lately he'd been forcing himself to drink it black. Though he enjoyed the aromatic qualities that it boasted, he could get enough of that simply by sniffing idly around him at the busy café. Most of the customers had their own cup. It was the cheapest thing on the menu which, in hindsight, was probably the very same reason he'd ordered his own cup. Every other item that had been listed was either too frightening for his wallet or not appealing enough to his stomach.

The place was new, therefore it was popular. It worked the same way in the city. New place opens up, new place gets swarmed, the swarmers all talk about how nice of a place it was to swarm, and then usually they never swarm it again. Either the new place gets by with those lured flies that happened to get a taste for its honey or it crumbles within weeks.

Might've been slightly different here though. It was a small town, but it was different from Inaba. Inaba was middle-class and happy with it.

Shintate was a high-class town that specialized in the novelty. Rich people with expensive hobbies buying expensive things. This café, this tiny little haven of French chic, was nothing more than a high-quality distraction for the perpetually bored residents of the surrounding town. Souji wasn't well-versed in the nuances of French culture but even his unpolished instincts told him that this place was about as authentic as a bowl of live garden snails and a bottle of name-brand American ketchup. It appeared to him that the owners built the most flowery interior possible, layered the menu with dessert crepes and cheap coffee that they'd sell for three times their worth and called it a payday.

Maybe it did work differently than in the city. The people of this town had gold-lined pockets and more time than they knew what to do with—investors and trust fund babies. Their lives were set and the only thing left to do was distract themselves with novelty until they were dead.

This was a bad choice. Someone like Naoto would see through this place the second she stepped inside. Souji couldn't have known. He'd never been to Shintate. This was the first place he saw...and 'Avoir le Cafard' sounded nice enough...though, now that he thought of it, the name sounded like faux-French gibberish.

'She's gonna think I'm shallow...or stupid...or...something', he thought. After five years, this was hardly the reunion he'd wanted.

Five years...and he hadn't done a thing. He finished high school in the city...enrolled in college for a year or two...became distracted with money troubles and the frantic desire to cut financial ties and seek independence. 'I'll work for a while...build up my funds...go back to school, become a teacher maybe. Yeah, it'll be great!'

Some time later, here he was...recently unemployed and not a step closer to his goal. He didn't know why. He was a smart guy, he thought...aced everything in high school...or, everything in high school when he was in Inaba.

...Maybe that was the problem. Inaba. He'd kept in touch, of course...with everyone there...but it wasn't the same. He'd always been a distant sort of person...and it took a series of gruesome murders and a trip into the television to get the guy to socialize. He was special in Inaba. He had some purpose in Inaba.

In Inaba, he was the Leader...and nothing else after Inaba felt quite the same.

He was ashamed to be comforted by the activities of most of his old friends. Most of them weren't overly successful themselves.

Chie Satonaka had taken the police exam in Inaba and failed...twice. She'd be going in for a third try in a few weeks, or so he heard.

Yosuke Hanamura was still working at Junes while slowly creeping through college. He'd never been more than a part-time college student. He still hadn't declared a major.

Teddie was also still working at Junes...though, he'd now taken a much larger corporate role. He was the official mascot of the company now...or, at least, his bear suit is. He owned the copyright of the bear image before anyone else so he was making a mint and living it up. You couldn't go anywhere without seeing one of those 'Teddie' dolls lounging in store windows. Considering that his success was mostly dumb luck, however, Souji didn't exactly feel envious.

Kanji Tatsumi seemed to have no plans for higher education...though, he was apparently very happy with his current life as the fastest sewing needle in Inaba. Some locals referred to him as 'Kanji the Stitcher'. He didn't know whether to take offense or not. After all, out of context, it did still sound kinda manly.

Yukiko Amagi was still helping with the inn. Her mother's health had deteriorated somewhat, forcing her to pick up a good chunk of the slack. Her education had been put on hold...but she seemed reasonably happy with her position as owner-to-be.

He reveled in this and he hated it. As long as he didn't have to compare himself to anyone...as long as they were in a similar boat as himself, he would be okay with it. Every time he'd speak to any one of them over the light hiss of a phone receiver, he hoped and prayed that they'd have bad news...horrible revelations of their own shortcomings. He enjoyed it when his friends failed...and lately, he was beginning to resent himself for it.

But there was no speaking of failure when it came to Naoto Shirogane. After word of her assistance with the Inaba serial killer case got out, her assistance became more desired than ever before. Souji couldn't quite recall how many cases she'd solved now...but he remembered that it was a lot. She didn't stay in Inaba for much longer after the incident. She finished high school a year sooner than expected. Apparently, without a local serial killer case to worry about, she breezed through any piece of academia that was placed in front of her. She returned to the Shirogane Estate as soon as her education in Inaba was completed...beginning work as both full-time college student and full-time detective. Last he heard, she was plowing through every challenge in front of her. A double major in forensics and criminal psychology as well as her continuing career as the heir to the Shirogane name was proof enough of that.

Even if he were to compare himself to her high school self...she still would've accomplished much more than him. It was daunting...frightening, even.

As soon as he arrived in Shintate to meet her, he regretted it. They'd been in touch...sort of. Their interaction had begun to steadily decline. Phone calls deteriorated to occasional E-mails to...not much of anything.

...It was his own fault. He was the one who answered his phone less frequently...took longer to reply to each message he was sent. He felt too embarrassed to talk about his personal life any longer...so he just slowly phased it all out.

And yet, oddly enough, he was the one who, stupidly, had suggested this meet-up. 'I have some time off', he said. 'I've never seen your place. It's a few hours of driving, but I can manage...'

The Shirogane Estate wasn't too far from Shintate. A few miles away...enough to make the town a comfortable daily visit, but the estate itself was far enough away to give it some exciting air of intrigue and the allure of peaceful rustic living. The plan was to meet in town for a quick bite and then for Souji to be treated to an intimate tour of the estate, courtesy of Detective Shirogane herself.

Souji Seta, having acquired a convenient window booth, glanced hurriedly to the comfy town's streets at every creak of approaching tires that touched his ears. Anxious...like a virgin on his first big date waiting for daddy to drop his precious little girl off to be romanced, kissed on the cheek, and brought back home precisely at 11:00 PM.

...He recognized her car as soon as he saw it. He'd been given no description of it...but he knew it. Even in a homey little town like this something that old-fashioned stood out. He didn't know enough about cars to properly describe it, but it looked to be a pre-war model...some high-class luxury piece of automobile history that the world's elite were once carted around in. Cloth roof...long, slightly box-shaped. There was a name for that noticeable frame...started with a 'P', but that's all he could recollect. A dark blue paint job on the walls...classy, and just like the girl he used to know. He almost cringed with the notion of someone actively driving it. It seemed like something meant for display and an occasional five-mile drive. The thought of a common road's dust clinging to that immaculately polished chassis sent chills up his spine...and he didn't even like cars that much.

He tried his best to keep casual...glancing back into his cup of coffee to check his appearance, lightly raking at his developing chin stubble and brushing his bangs from his eyes. He looked...'scruffy'. He had been tempted to get a clean shave and a proper haircut to look more like his younger self, but...doubt crept in. Would she imagine he was clinging to the past? Would she be disappointed if he hadn't changed a bit? A little stubble and some shaggy hair...that'd work best, wouldn't it? He could maintain a veil of casual indifference that way.

Naoto stepped out of the vehicle from the driver's side. Surprising, really. She could probably afford a chauffeur if she wanted one. Souji's gaze went straight to her wrists.

...She wasn't wearing a watch.

...Nervously...he kept his own watch in his pocket, hesitant to strap it on as he waited for the detective to enter so he could wave her over to his booth.

 


	2. An Excuse

_In which Souji Seta exposes his feelings and is offered a purpose..._

Souji Seta regretted not receiving the shave and a haircut that he had considered. Naoto Shirogane hadn't changed...not one bit.

There might've been some subtle new sharpness to her face...but if there was, it was so aggravatingly subtle that he couldn't tell. If she'd grown taller it would've had to have been by mere millimeters, still scraping that easily underestimated five-foot-nothing height that she sported back in the old days. Whether or not her feminine figure had also filled out was also a vexing mystery. She could've gone up three cup sizes and he'd never be able to tell thanks to her unique wardrobe. Her fashion sense was identical to before...petite young lady strolling into the establishment in high-collared, navy pea coat, some straight black slacks, and, from what Souji could tell, the exact same officer's cap as always. He couldn't help but think of how iconic that hat must be by now. If her career continued to be as successful as it had been, that humble piece of head wear would be a widely revered relic. Overall, she matched her car...'vintage'. Like a not-yet-forgotten chunk of a dying age...

Her aura of androgyny had also not dissipated even in the slightest. If he had no clue beforehand, it would've been incredibly easy to mistake her for a young man. A very pretty young man, yes, but a young man regardless.

Her mannerisms were just as he remembered them. Quick, precise, methodical. She took the time to take in everything about her surroundings as soon as she entered the café...the mark of an expert sleuth, he supposed. Leave no stone unturned, no detail is unimportant, etc.

As she approached the booth the gravity of the situation began to weigh down on him. Suddenly, he felt awkward...more so than before. In sharp contrast to her, he looked shabby and unrefined. His wardrobe was one of painful simplicity. Plain gray shirt, long-sleeved...not ironed, but clean. Blue jeans...in much the same condition as the shirt. Sneakers...cheap and practical. Souji became uncomfortably aware with the disheveled condition of his hair and the existence of peach fuzz on his chin. An elegant reminder of an age long past meeting with something plain, boring, and modern. In the very least, he clung stubbornly to the pride of having become slightly taller...a quick jump from the 5'11" stature he flaunted as a 17-year-old to a solid six and two of the adult he now was.

"Nice to see you again...'senpai'..."

He mentally cringed. It was just a sharp, jarring reminder that the person he was speaking with was actually younger than him. It was all in good humor, of course...but it stung nonetheless. He wished his reaction was different. He'd have preferred to swoon, even...to be overcome with sweet, intoxicating nostalgia regarding that forcibly deepened voice.

He forced a smile and the most meager of laughs, some half-sincere rumble that lingered inconveniently in the back of his throat. At his gesture, Naoto politely took her seat. He would've felt a lot better if she seemed less confident about the entire affair...if she had degenerated back into a trembling, blushing, lovestruck little girl that once existed. But no...she only smiled placidly, adjusting her collar as she surveyed her surroundings one last time before allowing herself to focus on the old friend seated before her.

"...Thank you very much for taking the time to visit. You're quite fortunate...I have some free time today. Sadly, that's a rare luxury for me."

"...Yeah. Got pretty lucky, I guess..."

"...Mmhmm..."

Souji's skills as a conversationalist had diminished more than he thought. Already the atmosphere had devolved into something tense and thick and uncertainty. He should've expected this, right? This was how a meeting with a high school sweetheart usually wound up. Desperately, he grasped for his coffee...taking a long, painful sip of the bitter, hot liquid. He didn't need to brainstorm for very long on a conversation subject, however. Naoto was quick enough to pick up the slack.

"...I...haven't been here yet. It's become exceedingly popular with the locals though. Have you ordered yet?"

"Hmm? Oh, no...well, yes. I...I just ordered coffee and that's it. Umm...not much of an appetite...but please, get whatever you like! My treat..."

A jovial laugh was Naoto's response, arms thoughtfully crossed as she shook her head. "...That's quite alright. I'm a big g-...I'm an adult now. If anything, I should be paying for you as well...since you've been so considerate as to drive all this way."

Cringe, cringe, cringe. Even worse, he knew she was right...at least, she was right in the sense that it would be much better if she paid. He'd already spent the majority of dwindling 'entertainment' fund in taking the long drive to this big, gilded town. She, meanwhile, seemed to have scratch to spare.

He quickly sunk back into his distant, rarely speaking self. He was like that back then, but he didn't have the rapidly growing inferiority complex to go along with it. In the very least, it shouldn't reflect poorly on him in this situation. 'Brevity is the soul of wit'...from what he remembered of Naoto, it would be an expression that she'd take to heart.

Souji suddenly became very aware of the fact that he was slumping miserably forward. Casually, he adjusted himself...straightening his spine and balancing his palms on his knees. He licked his lips dryly, bringing himself to look up from his half-empty coffee cup. Naoto wasn't looking straight at him for the moment...having backed away from the uncomfortable re-introductions while searching for a waiter. Souji spoke up.

"I'm really...really sorry about suggesting this place. I thought it'd be nice...but it doesn't seem to be that authentic or anything...and it's kinda pricey. The coffee itself was about 300 yen..."

"...300? That's remarkably cheap considering where we are. Outrageous nonetheless, but it could be worse..."

"...Menu seems really shabby too. Mostly crepes with different fillings and finger sandwiches..."

"...Croque monsieur?"

"Gesundheit."

"...Pff...hahahaha!"

Laugher. He smirked. He didn't know a simple joke like that would hit the spot. He liked her laugh. Even when she was actively trying to deepen her voice, that laugh was always just a little higher-pitched than anything else she said.

Souji smiled...a more genuine expression this time, a sudden boost in confidence allowing him to lean slightly forward. "...But...no, they don't have that. I think they're trying to sell their atmosphere more than their food."

"Hmm...a fruitless endeavor. Just from entering I could tell both that the atmosphere was poor and the food was cheaply produced."

"Hmm? How's that? I mean, I could tell once I saw the menu, but..."

"...Watch and see."

Naoto's eyes were glinting with a familiar shine of curious mischief. Calmly, she unwrapped the individual napkin that came with each seat, unveiling a single well-polished butter knife.

"Now...listen very carefully..."

Without flinching, she extended her arm over the table...relaxing her fingers and allowing the knife to fall to the ground with a sharp 'CLNG!'

The bustling, trivial chatter of the café immediately ceased. For the briefest of moments, the restaurant was silent...save for a strange dull hum that lingered in the background.

"Oops! Forgive me. My mistake, everyone." Naoto explained her actions thusly, keeping her composure as she recovered the fallen knife and neatly slid it back onto the table. "...Did you hear?"

"...Huh? No. Nothing, except for that...hum..."

"Precisely. Can't you tell what that sound was?"

"..."

Naoto's smile was one of mild disappointment, a slender hand rising to readjust her color...something she seemed to unconsciously do as she was thinking. "...Microwaves. They keep them far in the back. No restaurant with an authentic French menu would use something like that...and without the conversational racket, the customers wouldn't even have to strain their ears to hear it. As subtle as it is, it's something that can shatter the peaceful atmosphere of a high-quality restaurant. Once this café's popularity begins to waver, it'll become much more obvious to those that come here. They could try to drain the noise out with music, but it will still be noticeable to those with discerning ears."

Souji Seta stared, somewhat dumbfounded. His smile had faded...lips poised into an expression of something indiscernible as he idly swirled his coffee. "...Sharp as ever, huh?"

"I'd...like to think that I've improved over time, senpai. You, however...seem to have been neglecting your investigator's instinct. I recall you being quite 'sharp' yourself back then."

"...Yeah..."

His voice trailed off. Conveniently, a waitress approached at around the time Souji ran out of things to say. Naoto didn't feel the need to deliberate her order, already having decided. "No food, just coffee...cream and three sugars, please."

"Just like N-"

He almost said it, but he didn't. 'Just like Nanako'...that's what he wanted, right? He wanted that. Like a disgusting leech, he clung to the notion of being with an immature person. 'Cream and sugar? How childish! You haven't moved on to drinking it black yet? How silly! And here I was, jealous of just how you've become. How silly of both of us!'

"...Senpai?"

Was he that petty? Did he feel that bad about himself? He had to mentally latch on to the tiniest lapse of so-called 'maturity' to boost his own vampiric ego?

"...Senpai, is something wrong? Is it the coffee? You don't look w-"

"STOP...calling me 'senpai'."

He said that louder than he meant to. Some of the pretentious café's nosier patrons probably overheard...but at the moment, he really didn't care. Naoto, in a rare display, seemed visibly taken aback. Her cap tipped slightly aside, mouth open and voice stammering. She sunk back into her seat, a single hand nervously toying at the edge of her collar. "...I apologize..."

"...I'm not your senpai anymore, you know. At this point, you're probably mine, dammit. So it's...it...it makes me uncomfortable, alright?"

Naoto glanced nervously around the restaurant, successfully dispelling any and all judgmental stares that may be drifting their way. She cleared her throat with dignity, gently rubbing at her exposed neck before putting on a more business-like face. "...As I said, I apologize. It wasn't my intention to make you uncomfortable."

There was no stopping it now. The dam was busted, everything was spilling out. His lips moved without thinking as he continually stared downward into that steaming cup of black water, his own reflection distorted by the ripples that came with the subtle movements of the table.

"...What'd you even need to meet me for? A spark of nostalgia? You're miles ahead of where I am right now. You're exactly where you want to be, right? You did it. Good for you. You're the detective that you wanted to be...and I can just stay as that confused fling you had back when you were young and naïve."

"..."

"...I've been keeping up with what you've been doing. That's pathetic, right? Wanting to watch you while avoiding making any real contact. I've seen all those headlines. 'Ace Detective', 'Young Genius Thwarts Criminals', 'Legendary Investigator in the Making'. Meanwhile, me, I can't hold anything down. No, I can't manage to do a damn thing."

"...Souji, that isn-"

"You know that's why I had the free time to do this? Yeah, I'm out of work right now. My schedule is blank and it's driving me up a wall...and I thought 'Hey, maybe I could meet up with an old friend? Swap stories, reminisce, give my self-worth a big boost by drowning in memories of the past!' But no...I see you come in here and the only thing I feel is...envy. And that's what I've been scared of. I've been afraid that I spent too much time talking with you I'd start to hate you being better than I am. It's stupid and selfish and I should be better than that but I'm not...so..."

"...I'm very sorry to hear that."

And that was it. Silence followed...cold, gnawing silence. Souji Seta's chest heaved...heart beating more rapidly than it should be as he forced himself to choke down the last of his coffee. It had become very apparent that more than a few of the other patrons had been listening in. Already, a horrible background of brainless gossip was forming around Souji's poorly restrained outburst.

"A fling, did he say?"

"There are men like that here? How shameful."

"Well, at least the two aren't going at it in public as some of them do."

"Wait...one of them is that detective, isn't he? I didn't know that he was into other...oh, no wonder none of his female suitors had made any progress."

A hot streak of cherry-red burned its way across Naoto's cheeks as she anxiously tugged at her collar...hard enough that Souji half-expected it to fray. There it was...that trembling, that blushing, that easily humiliated little girl that existed within the proper masculine exterior. He should've enjoyed seeing that after so long...just like when she wore that uniform just for him...

...but it was different. She was uncomfortable without reason...and naturally, it was his fault. Naoto took one more glance around before speaking up. "...It might be best if I left. I'll leave the money for my coffee...just inform the waitress that something urgent came up."

"I'll pay for it. It's fine."

"...Very well...since you insist. Perhaps...I can show you the estate another time...when you feel more comfortable."

"...Yeah...sure."

Dignity preserved, Naoto stood and turned toward the door. Souji slumped over, forming an uncomfortable pillow on the tabletop with his arms and burying his face down in the warm gloom that it formed. His heart didn't stop pounding...his thoughts raced.

_Please..._

Naoto took a moment to thank an employee for the service.

_...anyone...anything that can help..._

She opened the door and strode out onto the sidewalk.

_...give me an excuse..._

She stepped towards her car.

_Give me an excuse to go after her!_

A sound...a peculiar sound that broke through the hardening shell of trivial, gossip-heavy conversation and criminally poor atmosphere. The sound of a door swinging harshly open. Souji Seta bolted upright, his forehead slightly reddened by the light pressure of laying down atop his arm. "Naot-..."

...It wasn't her. The eyes of most present strayed to the individual who had just barged in. It was a man...tall, broad-shouldered. He couldn't see much beyond that. Clothing was thick and baggy. Gloves covered his hands. It was highly unusual for the weather. It was an appropriate weather for both long and short sleeves, but it wasn't nearly cold enough for how bundled up this individual seemed. Souji couldn't see his face. A hood covered the top of his head, and a pair of sunglasses shielded his eyes. He kept his chin flat to the top of his chest, veiling at least some portions of his mouth. It was crude, but reasonably effective. With only a fleeting glance from a decent distance, Souji probably would be unable to identify his face. Conspicuously, his right hand was stuffed snugly into an interior pocket of his shirt.

The man didn't even look around. Even with the glasses, the tilt of his head suggested that the first thing he did upon entering was look directly at the booth Souji was seated in. One glance. The man's right arm twitched anxiously before he hesitated, realizing something...

The mysterious man glanced out the booth-adjacent window. It wasn't difficult to follow his line of sight...straight to that out-of-place pre-war tourer that Naoto had been driving, with the androgynous detective only now opening the driver's side door.

Something stirred inside of Souji Seta. His body seemed to be aware of what it was reacting to even before his brain had found the ability to make sense of it all. Fear...cold, genuine...of the type that cuts through the core and rests in the limbs, weakening the joints. He jolted from his resting position...emptied and still-warm coffee cup falling from the table and chipping itself against the ground.

The mysterious assailant rushed to the sidewalk. He turned towards the detective, yelling to capture her attention...or perhaps confirm that she was the one. "NAOTO SHIROGANE!"

She turned, her hand poised near the handle to the driver's side door. The reason the assailant had been hiding his right hand was swiftly revealed upon the unveiling of a semi-automatic pistol. Souji Seta remembered only lunging towards him, grasping for his gun-toting arm...before blackness overtook him.

Consciousness came like a benediction. Souji Seta awoke to the most horrific sort of pain..a sharp, constant throb that echoed about the fragile interior of his skull. Instinctively, his hand reached for his forehead...only to be stopped by something. Someone was grasping his wrist. "Hey hey hey...hold on, don't do that. Just stay still, okay? You might have a serious head injury."

Head injury? Souji squinted, desperately adjusting his vision but to no avail. Everything was just a big, messy blur...a mesh of incomprehensible color and movement and hurried, panicked voices.

Something bothered him. Something was eating at him. Fear...but what? A headache, sure, but he felt fine otherwise. Then what? What to be afraid of? It was an uneasiness...a horrible, looming sense of dread...the same that came when one went to bed depressed or angry. It was the feeling of waking up and not being able to remember that something was wrong.

"...Naoto...where...where is Detective Shirogane!"

"Hold still."

"Tell me where the detective is!"

"He's fine, he's fine...geez. Heck, you got busted up much worse than anyone else here."

"What...what happened?" He had no problem confiding in whoever this was. He assumed he was a paramedic...and he talked as if he knew perfectly well what had transpired.

"Well...apparently, some guy tried to off the detective. Pulled out a pistol."

"...And?"

"That's when you jumped him."

"Yeah!"

"...Well...hate to tell ya this...but it would've been better if you hadn't done it. The guy's gun jammed...he couldn't get off a single shot."

"...So...then how did...?"

"...Ya get like this? Oh, you headbutted the piss outta 'em."

"...Wh-"

"Some advice, by the way. There's a method to headbutting people, y'know. You don't just...crack foreheads together. That just hurts both of ya about equally. See, the key is to go for the nose. Ya wanna hit the softest part of their body with the hardest part of yours."

"...So...so, I knocked both him and I out?"

A laugh...a nervous one. It was the laugh that preceded the revelation of embarrassing news. "...Actually...you only knocked yourself out. I mean, ya hurt the guy...broke his glasses...but he got away. From what I hear, you went out like a light..."

"...I see."

"Yup."

"...Do you have anything that could knock me out again?"

The medic laughed uproariously...unrestrained, not watered down even in the slightest. "Haha! Ohwow, you're a funny guy. Nahh...you're fine. We'll get ya properly checked out in a while, but I don't think you have a concussion. Guys who have concussions have really awful senses of humor."

Souji Seta gradually became more aware of his surroundings. He was laid out flat on the sidewalk. A crowd had gathered...mostly rich old women come to gossip and take notes so they can go out and talk more gossip. Souji turned on his side as he attempted to gain his balance and stand. There was a blood stain on the concrete...probably his own. He grasped around blindly before finding something solid...luckily enough, it was the good-humored paramedic's shoulder. Groaning, he struggled to his feet...wobbling just a bit before gaining his composure.

"Excuse me. EXCUSE ME! Why is this man not placed on a stretcher?"

A familiar voice...feminine, but forcibly deepened. The paramedic gave a laugh, shrugging it off as he gave Souji a robust pat on the back. "Haha! Come onnnn...he's fine! He's a trooper! He just got a bump. No need to lay him out. Heck, I'm be perfectly fine if he drove himself to the hospital."

Souji was impressed by Naoto's presence. Considering her diminutive stature...she could be imposing when she felt like. The paramedic actually trembled beneath the cold stare coming from beyond the brim of her officer's cap. "I specifically said that he should be placed onto a stretcher and immediately rushed to the nearest properly equipped hospital! I want everything taken care of. If he doesn't have insurance, that's fine. It'll get paid for. He needs a full physical examination, a full-body X-ray, and-"

"Naoto! I'm fine...really. You don't have to give 'em an earful..."

Righteous tirade of words came to an abrupt end. The paramedic backed away despite this...perhaps just to see if Souji was capable enough to stand without support. He teetered just a bit, but his balance soon found itself.

Naoto's stare was harsh...smooth lips contorted into the tightest of knots as she glared bullets through the gray-haired young man holding his head in front of her.

...After almost a minute of silence, the paramedic seemed to take the hint and stepped to the side. "...Don't keep 'em, detective. You're right in that he SHOULD get an exam as soon as possible...so don't talk his ear off, huh? He doesn't need ear problems too..."

A nervous laugh followed before he actually departed. The man's retreating footsteps were painful to endure...each one quieter, dooming Souji to the horrible hell of a very long lecture.

Naoto was thorough. She didn't pay attention to simply the footsteps...glancing about until he was sure he was gone. The crowd, for the most part, had departed...local police ushering them away, only a few stragglers left to chat amongst themselves and swap inane theories about what had transpired.

...Naoto removed her hat. That's how he knew she was serious. Gripping it by the hard bill, she swung it...the fabric portion swatting painlessly against the injured Seta's arms. "What were you thinking! What could have possibly crossed through your mind to just...do something like that! He had a gun! Not a fake knife or some childish thing, but a real gun!"

"..."

"...I don't need you do anything like that for me! You think I can't defend myself? You know very well that I'd be more well-prepared for something like this than you." A gesture to your coat pocket. That's right...she was pretty good with a gun, wasn't she?

"...How was I supposed to kno-"

"Don't be a fool! I don't go anywhere without it. If we'd both managed to draw, I guarantee you that I would've shot first."

"...Because his gun ja-"

"EVEN if it didn't, I would've shot first. The fact that the gun jammed made it even worse! I was never in any danger, but YOU...what if he also had a knife? What if he'd struck you with the gun? What if he'd decided to take you hostage? It was a short-sighted decision...a fool's choice. If you hadn't interfered, I could've had a gun on him! He wouldn't have gotten away then, but he did, and now I still have to think about what I'll do if this happens again and I'm unprepared!"

"...I get it. I messed up."

"...Did it make you feel better about yourself? Is that okay? Did you think it would make you more important? Would it make you feel superior again? Did you get a sufficient boost of self-esteem from being able to put yourself on a higher tier and be able to 'rescue' a helpless little girl!"

...He had to think about it...hand still painfully groping at his injured face as he considered the possibility. "If it did...then...it would just be a side effect."

"...That doesn't make any sense."

"No...it does, it makes perfect sense...to me, at least. Maybe not you. It's funny..."

He felt light-headed suddenly, but he continued...taking the time to sit down on the concrete, raising his hand to assure Naoto that he wasn't falling back into unconsciousness.

He droned on...speaking as much to himself as he did to Naoto in a steady, droning tone. "...right when you left, all I could think of was...'Please, give me an excuse to go back out there.' I wanted to apologize for acting like such a kid...and part of me thought about how nice it would be to make myself useful for you...to feel like you really needed me in order to fully succeed. But...when I actually realized what was happening...I didn't think about that. All I thought was...'She can't be hurt. I can't sit back and let her be hurt. I don't know what I'd do if she were...dead.'"

"...Souji, that's..."

"Fear. Fear of you being hurt is what made me do it. Not jealousy or greed or selfishness...at least, that's what I think. I'unno...from what I've seen, it's hard to know just how my mind works...but if selfishness was involved, I wasn't actively thinking about it...if that helps. You don't have to believe me or anything...but it was the same back then, you know? With the fake knife? I wasn't thinking 'I have to protect this person because she can't protect herself'...it was more like...'Someone I care about is about to be hurt. I have to do something.'"

"..."

"...Wanna hear something funny?" Souji smiled...a genuine smile, reaching deep into his pants pocket.

"...! That's..."

He brandished the handmade watch that she'd given him so long ago...boldly snapping it onto his wrist. It was different than what he was accustomed to when dealing with Naoto. Nylon strap and plastic...to the naked eye, it was just a cheap digital sports watch. It wasn't her style...but, it was efficient and well-made. More important than anything was the special feature that had been added in by Naoto herself...what made it unique. "I...was gonna wear this. Had it all planned out. In my head, you'd show up...and I'd hold up my wrist...and then you'd hold up yours...and I'd get to say, 'Hey, look! We're in range again! Isn't that great'? But...at the last moment, I got scared...and I thought that maybe you'd forgotten about it...that you wouldn't wear it. So...I just kept it in my pocket this entire time..."

He played with the cherished keepsake...bouncing it between clumsy fingers before settling it back into the pit of his palm. "...This is probably the most I've spoken in the last few months. That's weird, right? I was always the quiet type, I think...but being around you just makes me wanna talk."

His thumb flicked a button on the edge of the watch. The plain plastic screen illuminated itself, the blocky digital numerals altering from telling time to telling something that was, perhaps, more important.

**DISTANCE: 1 METER**

Souji's sad smile melted away, glancing up to Naoto, who had been standing the whole time. She reached into her pocket, revealing a handmade watch. The most noticeable of blushes throbbed at her cheeks. She fidgeted...avoided eye contact. Nostalgia...

"...You too?"

"...Yes."

"...Wow..."

"...We should get you to the hospital."

Souji Seta emerged from the hospital doors still clutching his head. After seeing a mirror, he realized that the damage was worse than he'd previously imagined. A little blood...a lot of bruising. They wrapped his forehead up tight though...gave him a bottle of prescription pain pills, told him to get someone else to drive him today, and sent him on his way. He didn't have a problem with not driving. After all, Naoto drove him here anyway. It was a nice hospital...too nice, maybe. A rich person's hospital. Shintate General Hospital was one unaccustomed to those without insurance...a bourgeois

establishment if there ever was one. They were reluctant to admit him...but seeing the unique detective that accompanied him, they finally got the idea that his ride was gonna be paid for.

Naoto didn't stay very long. She lingered long enough to make sure things were in order before departing on unexplained business. She did, however, assure that he'd be sent a reliable ride to the estate as long as he wasn't admitted overnight.

Souji glanced about. Time had passed. The sun was setting, so there was no reason to shield his eyes amidst the pale orange glow of oncoming nightfall.

...He didn't see Naoto's car.

"Excuse me...Mr. Souji Seta?"

Souji turned, having been stealthily approached by a man he felt like he should recognize. A man in a black suit...middle-aged, but healthy. His stern, but gentle, face was riddled with various lines of wisdom...a modest brown mustache tickling at his upper lip. He was so modest and well-behaved that he almost seemed to melt into the background and avoid all suspicious.

"...Y-...yeah?"

"...Do you not remember me, sir?"

"...Should I?"

"Yakushiji. I am the Shirogane personal secretary."

"...Oh...oh! Yeah! Thanks for the sc-...umm...thanks for...thanks."

"...You wanted to say 'Thanks for the schoolgirl outfit', didn't you?"

"...Maybe."

"Hm...well. We need to get down to business."

Yakushiji hoisted a streamlined black briefcase, opening it swiftly and thrusting it towards the unsuspecting Seta. There was surprisingly little inside. Concealed within a loose sleeve was a small stack of papers...and what looked to be a ballpoint pen.

"Here is your application."

"...For...?"

"Employment."

"...With...?"

"The Shirogane Estate."

Souji's face reddened. His fists balled. He restrained himself enough not to yell, but his voice came out in a harsh rasp regardless. "I...I don't need a sympathy job, alright? I'm fine."

"...If we gave jobs to everyone who we sympathized with, Mr. Seta, we would have absolutely no room to hire anyone else."

"Goddammit. This was Naoto's idea?"

"No. This is me...responding to what I believe Detective Shirogane desires."

"...So...what? You want me to be a butler?"

"Oh, no no no. You don't have nearly enough training."

"..."

"Ahem..."

Yakushiji's expression became more grave. He steadied his breath, eyes squinting with an air of seriousness. "...Are you aware that Detective Shirogane, unlike most detectives, works solo?"

"...I thought so."

"...Most detectives don't. Do you know why?"

"...They get lonely?"

"Hm. Funny. No no...it's dangerous work. For example...let's say that today's assailant actually knew how to properly use a Browning 9mm and it didn't jam. Despite what the detective insists...he had the element of surprised. It's very unlikely that she would be able to shoot first..."

"...R-...right...especially since she uses a revolver, huh?"

"...I am going to ignore the fact that you, for some reason, are intimate with the detective's personal choice of firearm for the time being."

"Eheh."

"...What is important here is...it would make both me, and the detective's retired grandfather, much more at ease if she didn't go about doing everything on her own...especially after today's incident."

"...You keep saying that, but...all I hear is 'We feel sorry for you, ya bum, take this job'."

"...Hear what you will, Mr. Seta. As I have said...Detective Shirogane did not request this. I am merely responding to the desires that she dares not to speak."

"..Tch..."

"...Are you aware of how much she talked about your meeting? For days, all I've heard throughout the estate is 'senpai this' and 'senpai that'. She has very little time for social interaction...and it seems that you were, at least, once close to her. If you are to accept this position...it solves everything, doesn't it? You have a job...she has company...she is significantly safer..."

"Th-...I...I don't have any...police training! You can't just-"

"The Shirogane Detective Agency is a private firm. We reserve the right to hire whoever we so choose."

Souji Seta's voice stalled. He scratched indecisively at his scalp, glancing down towards the papers. Seemed like it asked for typical things. Personal information...that's all. 'Sign name, receive occupation'.

"...S-so...you want to be a detective?"

"No. I want you to be a detective's assistant. That is...personal secretary...bodyguard...chauffeur...messenger...errand boy...the works. You will be Detective Shirogane's keeper..."

This was a stupid idea, wasn't it? He still had a lease on an apartment. He still had a life...of sorts. He couldn't just...

"Where would I st-"

"Occupation comes with complimentary room and board."

"...But-"

"As well as a sizable bimonthly paycheck."

"...I-"

"You will keep very busy. Working in all sorts of environments. You'll want for nothing, Mr. Seta."

Forty-five minutes later, Souji Seta signed the papers. "...When will I know if I'm hired."

"Well, there is a rigorous application process. Your application will be sent to the second-highest authority of the Shirogane Estate, exclusing Mr. Shirogane himself."

"...Who would that be?"

"Me."

Yakushiji held the stack of loose papers up, casually flipping through them in less than a minute. "Everything checks out. Congratulations, Mr. Seta. You are hired."

"...Y-...you..."

Souji Seta's arm was grasped snugly, Yakushiji not bothering to look behind him as he led him off to his escorting vehicle. Disappointingly, Yakushiji drived a much more modest vehicle rather than a pre-war slice of history.

"Now, Mr. Seta, allow me to explain your duties. Detective Shirogane wakes up at 6:00 AM sharp. Therefore, you will be awake by 4:00 AM to prepare for the day. You will be in charge of taking all of the detective's calls as well as organizing any and all paperwork or vital evidence. Shamefully, the detective isn't the most organized person in the world. Before the detective awakens, everything must be placed in order by you before the day begins."

"W-...who did this before?"

"No one. That's why the detective is always so disorganized. Now, can you drive a manual transmission?"

"Stick shift? Yeah."

"Can you drive with the manual transmission of a 1933 Cadillac?"

"...Y-...no..."

"Oh well, you'll learn. Any formal self-defense training."

"...No...b-but I'm okay with a sword."

"Hm. Funny. The detective said you had a remarkable sense of humor. Anyway, you'll be fine. You're tall and you have very sharp eyes, so just intimidate people. You're not getting a gun though. We'll see if we can outfit you with something nonlethal. Just don't headbutt anyone else. You have fists for a reason...though, if you look daunting enough, it will rarely come to that. I always did think you looked like a tough sort though. Been in any delinquent gangs?"

"...No..."

"Hm. Odd. I suppose it was the eyes that tricked me, as insensitive as that is. Do you have exposed sclera? That would help...though, if your stare is steely enough you won't need it. Now, your wardrobe..."

"...Wardrobe?"

"Yes. We'll have to get your measured by a decent tailor. It would be strange to see the detective out and about with someone who looks like a NEET..."

"...I don't...really like suits."

"...Well, you know what they say. Wearing a suit is like driving a 1933 Cadillac."

"...How?"

"Difficult at first, but you learn to love it, Mr. Seta."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly unedited old chapter, uploaded quickly because it didn't seem right to just slap the prologue up and then nothing.


	3. A Change of Attire

_In which Souji Seta wakes to a new existence..._

Souji Seta hadn't slept very well. He recalled a phrase that he never regarded as truthful until now. 'The most comfortable bed is the one that you are the most familiar with'. For the first time in his life he'd slept on a western bed with Egyptian cotton sheets, feather-stuffed pillows, and a comforter that may as well have been made out of pure ecstasy.

He barely slept though. He tossed, turned, flopped, flipped, and floundered through half of the night and dozed uneasily the other half. He missed his cheap futon. His back, tempered by so many years of harsh sleeping, would have a difficult time adjusting to this level of baby-soft luxury.

The guest room he had been provided with was something alien...something disturbingly high-class...so much so that the luxury he should have felt was flippantly wasted. He felt almost guilty. It was the equivalent to giving a box of fine, imported chocolates to a diabetic. The amount of thought that must've gone into the room was absolutely staggering. The way the lush cream carpeting tickled the bare feet to greet the recently awoken with a laugh. The way the sunlight gently filtered through the subtle off-white curtains to provide a gentle, but effective, start to a busy day (unfortunately, if the schedule he'd been given was accurate, he wouldn't be waking up to very many comfortable sunrises). Everything seemed meticulously designed to please and pamper the occupant. Too much effort for someone who would ultimately shrug it off and go on daydreaming about a single bedroom apartment with peeling wallpaper, scratchy carpets, and a front door with a squeaky handle.

The Shirogane Estate, despite its grandeur, was probably the most uncomfortable place he'd ever had the trouble of staying at overnight. He should be happy, right? It's an honor to be a guest. Yakushiji's informative speech from hours earlier came flooding into the young man's head.

"The Shirogane Estate is among one of the largest privately-owned homes in Japan. 125,000 square feet, it boasts over 150 rooms including a dozen guest bedrooms, six bathrooms, five lounges, a parking garage with over fifteen vehicles, and, of course, the legendary private office of the current heir to the Shirogane name. The estate itself is testament to the Shirogane's long line of appreciation for 19th century western architecture. It is a Châteauesque-styled mansion that took over six years to complete. If you have an eye for western architecture, Mr. Seta, you'll quickly realize the similarity between this estate and the works of Richard Morris Hunt and Frederick Law Olmsted. This is no mistake, of course, as both of those men were very heavy influences on the unique Shirogane sense of style. I'm sure you've also noticed the exquisite landscape gardening surrounding the premises. It's a sort of...eclectic mix of English landscape gardening and formal Renaissance gardening. I'm...not sure if you are the type to appreciate that sort of thing, bu-"

It was at that point that Seta had simply stopped listening...though, from what he could gather, the rambling continued on for about another ten minutes or so. Souji did notice the landscaping...but probably not in the way that Yakushiji had hoped. He noticed the trees...slightly disturbed by how specifically they'd all seemed to be placed. There was no random factor to their placement, giving them a slightly unnatural feel...but, recalling Naoto's affinity for high places, he assumed they were something that made her happy in ways that most people wouldn't understand.

Souji Seta stepped clumsily across the tickle-inducing carpeting, lumbering his weary self to the nearest mirror. A big one...bigger than he was accustomed to, perched atop what he assumed as an antique wooden dresser. He didn't have an eye for antiques...but considering where he was, it was a safe bet that just about everything in the room was older than he was.

He had to flip a light switch in order to get a decent view of himself. 4:00 AM...what kind of time is that for any living creature to wake up? The sun wasn't even out yet. There should be a law against starting the day before you could even see the sun. It was inhumane. He supposed he could've blamed his lack of sleep on the horrifyingly early hour that he was set to wake up...but even if he'd been allowed to sleep until noon he couldn't imagine becoming familiar with his current lodgings.

The man in the mirror seemed frighteningly unfamiliar at first glance. He still had a bandage on his forehead. He would've peeled it away by now...but he was afraid to look. The bruising had been pretty bad yesterday...and thanks to the vindictive nature of all bruises, he was fairly certain that it look even worse the morning after. For that very reason, he had declined a haircut...keeping his bangs long in an attempt to hide as much of it as he could. He slid his fingertips across his chin...smooth. A weird feeling. Even when he shaved himself back home he rarely managed to get 'smooth', usually opting for a two-minute run-around with an electric razor rather than a proper close one. He'd wanted to wait until morning to get groomed up like this...but apparently, a good shave at the Shirogane Estate takes quite a bit of time. He finally capitulated and opted for a late-night shear rather than waking up even earlier than he was already scheduled to. He looked younger. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing...

He'd decided to sleep in the same clothes he had been wearing. He could've easily stripped all the way down for a decidedly more comfortable experience...but the thought of disgracing those expensive bedsheets with something like that would've eaten away at him.

His eyes were red and puffy...dark, purple rings forming beneath them as testament to his inexperience with this manner of living.

_I suppose it was the eyes that tricked me_...

...Yakushiji had been implying that his eyes were frightening, right? At least, that's what Souji took away from that statement. He squinted at the strange man hovering in the mirror. His sclera weren't exposed...they didn't look beady or anything. They weren't scary, no way. They were...'sharp'! Yeah! Almond-shaped...more narrow than most...but definitely not scary.

...Heck, if they were scary eyes then he wouldn't have been such a good daycare assistant back in high school! He was good with kids. Kids didn't like guys with scary eyes.

Souji Seta's brow twitched, his lips peeling back as he glared wildly into his own reflection. He spoke to absolutely no one...some pitiful way of convincing himself. "...I don't have scary eyes...I don't..."

He stared for a bit too long after that...almost expecting his reflection to respond and comfort him, easing whatever physical complex that he might have developed. He'd be willing enough to admit that his eyes were odd...or strangely colored...or unique. Scary? Not a chance.

His internal struggle was abruptly interrupted by a gentle knock on the door to his temporary bed-haven. A voice spoke from beyond the wooden barrier...a familiar one...one that had, unfortunately, been burned into the fabric of his brain since last night. Gosh, Yakushiji really seemed to love to hear himself talk.

"Mr. Seta, you've slept in."

"...Wh-...it's barely past 4:00!"

"It is 4: 15-...oh, excuse me, it is 4:16, Mr. Seta. That means you have slept in by approximately sixteen minutes."

"..."

"...Be happy, Mr. Seta. We will be going easy on you today. It'll be a gentle landing. Today is the day you familiarize yourself with your new career."

...Career. He hadn't even begun and it was being called a 'career'...a career for someone who seemingly did absolutely nothing to earn in. Souji Seta felt his stomach turn.

"...Mr. Seta, are you dressed yet?"

"...A-...almost, just hold on..." Souji Seta's voice came out in a hushed, raspy whisper...several profanities following, held even more tightly beneath his breath.

"...Mr. Seta, if you are having any troubles I would be more than happy to-"

"I got it, I got it! Just...just give me one more minute, okay?"

Roughly two hours had passed since he had woken up. He was already sick of detailed tour of the estate as well as the orientation of his new job had been postponed slightly. Apparently, Naoto herself had taken offense to the notion of her old acquaintance being subjected to such hassles when she wasn't even present. After all...he was going to be her assistant, right? Wasn't much use in assisting someone who hadn't even bothered to explain things to you in person. At least, that's what Souji assumed her line of reasoning was. He didn't think exactly like her...but he could at least latch onto her general train of thought. Clean, thorough, logical...he liked that about her.

His morning had been Hellish. An earful of Yakushiji's constant rambling was bad enough. Breakfast was rushed. Nothing high-quality about it either...dry toast to chew on and hot coffee to spill down his throat. This was, of course, before Yakushiji had gotten word that Naoto insisted on being present for all explanations of job duty. The fact that Souji could've slept for two more hours with no problems whatsoever made his blood bubble.

It had mostly just been idle conversation...and about half an hour of attempting to slip himself into his new suit.

"...Mr. Seta, is it the measurements? Perhaps we should get you something larger? I thought we had your measurements taken properly, but I will admit that we rushed. It usually takes two to three days, but we thought it best to pull an all-night-"

"The measurements! Ugh...the measurements are fine...thanks. Y'know...y'know, I could just...kinda...wear my regular clothes or someth-"

"Out of the question."

"...Why?"

"...That is just how things work around here. Even when not in public, Mr. Seta...professionalism. I would hate to see you and the detective clashing in terms of wardrobe..."

_What am I? A fashion accessory?_

Souji Seta already knew that the dress code would be his least favorite part of all this. Yakushiji would be second. It wasn't as if he was the only other person employed here, after all. They had all sorts of hired help...and yet he lingered like an agitated gadfly, ever-present and terrifyingly aggressive about Souji taking up this position. He was having second thoughts.

...He hadn't seen Naoto since yesterday. That was strange, wasn't it? Why? If he was going to be her assistant...where was she? Why Yakushiji?

...Initially, he was only regarding this as a pity job...but it could've been worse than that. What if Naoto didn't even want it either? To have a friend and to have an employee...those were different things. The more he thought about it...the more he resented signing himself over.

"...Ahhh...Mr. Se-"

"I'm coming out already!"

Souji Seta emerged with a huff and a dull, indignant fire smoldering in his stare. Given the time constraints, his suit wasn't a complete original...merely an alteration to comfortably fit his proportions. Regardless, it was exactly what one would expect from a product requested by the Shirogane Estate...simple, clean, and elegant understated. Black...no pinstripes, just the purest color of black formed the trousers, buttoned vest, polished shoes, and simple necktie. Again, Souji's brain throbbed...unwillingly allowing his thoughts to dive back down into the informative, wind-blowing lecture that had spilled from Yakushiji's gums.

"Since I was unaware of your personal preferences regarding formal suits and work attire, I thought something simple and traditional would be nice. Black and white, no pinstripes...nothing too complicated, but it can fit most any situation. I almost went for gray, but I think a nice black suits you better. Gray would match your hair, but black really compliments it...and from what I've been told by the detective, you usually wore black anyway. I went with super wool 150. It's durable, it drapes very well, and it's also guaranteed to keep you comfortable even in the summer heat. You're quite broad-shouldered, so I made sure to inform to tailor to let out the vest just a tad more. There's a matching jacket, but...personally, I think a simple vest and dress shirt combo would suit you better. Don't ask why. It's a seven button vest, but don't feel like you have to button every single of them. Just do whatever you feel most comfortable with. I forgot to ask if you preferred belts or suspenders, but, as with most young people, I just assumed you'd prefer a belt...Italian, black leather, silver buckle. It's nice. The shoes are also Italian...black leather I didn't have time to get them custom made, but they should match your size decently for now. May be a little snug, though. There are some driving gloves with you as well...once more, black leather and Italian. You are advised to only wear them when driving. When not driving, keep them nearly folded in your vest pocket. The dress shirt is also intentionally simple in design...plain white, pique cotton. I got a traditional collar with the shirt. I almost jumped for the spread, but you didn't seem like the type, sir."

...Unfortunately, Souji Seta quickly learned that wearing a suit was a different ordeal entirely. He emerged from the guest room a hobbling mess. His tie was lopsided, only partially done. He almost got the belt right...though, true to his suspicions, he'd missed a loop or two as he was winding it about his waist. Collar as a mess, popped upright since he couldn't seem to figure out how to lay it down flat. His hair was tussled through the labor of slipping something over his head...which was wrong on many accounts since nothing about his wardrobe even called for something like that. His face was flushed, bottom lip rolled back to be noisily chewed upon by gnawing teeth. He felt like a clown...

Yakushiji's nose wriggled, eyebrows jumping as the wrinkles upon his forehead made themselves known. He was gonna laugh...Souji knew it. Almost, he almost laughed before coughing it away and giving a simple verbal reply. "...Hm. Funny."

That was going to bother Souji Seta more than he originally thought. It was thing to laugh...but to hold it back and reply like that? It was almost insulting...as if whatever joke he made was too childish or sub par to dignify with a legitimate showing of good will.

Without a word of warning the middle-aged secretary strode forward to take matters into his own hands, beginning with the tie...grasping the knot and expertly twisting it away. Souji grunted under the strain. He wasn't a very gentle person when he was getting this physical...several times given the taller young man's throat an uncomfortable squeeze. Even worse, he continued to talk throughout the humiliating ordeal...breath smelling of potent mint and something that Souji couldn't quite put his finger on. Food, maybe...something much better than dry toast and coffee.

"Mr. Seta, has anyone ever told you that you have a very long neck?"

"...Not until now, no."

"Hm...a half windsor knot suits your build best, I believe. I'll teach you to tie your own sometime later...unless you've grown to like the idea of me dressing you every morning."

"...I'm a fast learner...I'm sure I'll pick up on it quickly."

Yakushiji continued the ego-destroyed onslaught...untying his shoes and giving them a proper lacing, smoothing out his collar, tugging away some wrinkles that had laid dormant within his shirt, adjusting the vest so that only top and bottom button were left unbuttoned.

"...Hmmm...Mr. Seta, would you prefer to wear your sleeves long or would you like them rolled up?"

"...Does...it matter?"

"Personal preference, sir. I myself prefer to wear them long. You, however, seem like more of a casual individual...which is why I assumed tha-"

"Rolled up is fine, then."

The less he was like this jabbering lump of squirrel bait the better. With as much skill as was to be expected and as much sensitivity as an escaped gorilla inflicted with rabies, Yakushiji proceeded to roll up his cuffs until they rested neatly behind his elbows. Moving onto the pants, the Yakushiji thrust his index and middle finger past the threshold of the bewildered Seta's waistband.

"GGNGH! What the hell are y-"

"Language, Mr. Seta. Also, as you can see, I can fit two fingers into the waist of your trousers. They must be a nice fit."

Buckling the tortured new employee's belt, Yakushiji seemed satisfied with his work...stepping back to give a final appraisal. It was a great way to start the day...molested by a guy at least thirty years older and half a foot shorter.

Souji seethed...angrily stuffing his hands into the pits of his pockets, not bothering to adjust his posture...preferring to stoop down slightly and allow hair to continue covering his forehead. A scowl marred his face...cheeks moving as he bit the inside of his mouth to relieve some tension.

"...Well?" Souji barked. "...How...how is it?"

"...Would you like me to be friendly or honest, sir?"

"...Both."

"It's one or the other, sir."

"...Honest."

"You look like a hitman."

Souji Seta flinched, lips folding back as he unconsciously displayed his teeth. "Wh-...but, I...you..."

"Maybe black was a bad choice. The rolled up sleeves also make you look as if you're ready to do someone in...as if you're trying to avoid blood stains on your sleeves? The bandaging on the forehead as well...makes you seem like you've been in a scuffle recently...which, I suppose you have. Not to mention...you seem to be in a perpetually bad mood this morning, sir. A smile wouldn't-"

"I don't have scary eyes!"

"...Pardon?"

Souji Seta stomped forward, looming over the smaller man...though, by Yakushiji's expression, he wasn't being that intimidating. He wedged his fingers around his eyesockets, spreading them wide and refusing to blink just so the little gnat could get a decent look. "See? They're not. You implied they were, right? But they aren't. I do NOT look scary, godd-...gaahh..."

"You almost s-"

"I know, I know! Just...just..."

He turned, stomping away with as much ferocity as before,,,bolting back into the guest bedroom to get another glance at the mirror. He had to admit...Yakushiji did nice work. Efficient, immaculate...'classy'. That was the only real way to put it, wasn't it? You're either 'classy' or you're not...and for a split moment in time, Souji Seta was classy...

...until his eyes lifted to get a glance at his face. Sharp, scary eyes...scowling lips...a heavy bandage lingering on his forehead. He emerged from the room with a crestfallen grumble.

"...I do look like a hitman..." _And I DO have scary eyes..._

Yakushiji cleared his throat, adjusting his posture and attempting to allow himself to become an ounce or two more sympathetic. "Now, now...maybe that's a good thing, hm? As a bodyguard, you should look intimidating. If I was completely unaware of who you were, sir, I wouldn't touch you with a twenty-foot pole..."

"...You're not really helping."

Yakushiji stared down, dejected...before mustering whatever warm, fuzzy feelings he could and shuffling over to give the well-dressed symbol of fear a reassuring pat on the back. "...There there."

Souji Seta shrugged it away, attempting to do the best he could given the circumstances. It was all the mind, wasn't it? He had his qualities. Tall, broad-shouldered, well-dressed...that made him perfect for the job, right? He rolled his shoulders, popped his neck...toyed with his necktie, though he didn't jerk it about too much in fear of misaligning it and prompting Yakushiji to grope at him again. With the amount of money that went into this suit he could pay his rent for three months...

...He was unsure if he should be depressed by that.

"...So...what now, huh?"

"Ahh, yes...good, Mr. Seta. Now...we meet with the detective for a proper orientation. Detective Shirogane is currently waiting in the north lounge. The detective has kindly put the standard schedule on hold just so you can be made familiar with your new surroundings. Detective Shirogane insisted on giving the tour personally. Now...unless you have some questions, let's-"

"Yeah, I do have some questions."

Yakushiji paused mid-stride...already having turned and beckoned for Seta to follow. For once, he seemed genuinely taken aback...coughing to regain his composure before turning back to face the estate's guest. "...Yes, sir. Ask away, sir."

Souji smirked. "...I've noticed something weird about the way you talk."

"...Yes?"

"...When referring to Naoto...you never use 'he' or 'she'. Why's that?"

"...Right...I apologize. I keep forgetting that all of her friends from Inaba were already aware. It's force of habit, sir. Forgive me if you find it odd."

"...So...Naoto still goes under the pretense of being a guy?"

"Do not misunderstand. The detective never outwardly states that she is a man. In fact...she prefers if the subject never comes up. Her current policy is 'Tell no lies...but if her sex is never brought up to begin with, there is no problem'."

"...Alright...so, I guess I should follow suit when I'm in public with her, right?"

"...She would appreciate that, sir. Thank you. Now, if we're go-"

"NEXT...question."

Yakushiji suppressed a groan, tiredly readjusting himself. Apparently, he didn't like it when the shoe was on the other fit and he had to listen to someone else talk. "...Go ahead, Mr. Seta."

"Semi-automatic Browning, 9mm."

"...The gun that was used by yesterday's assailant."

"Yeah...how did you know what kind of gun it was? He got away, right? Was the gun recovered?"

"...No, sir. It was not."

"...Then h-"

"Detective Shirogane was able to identify it."

"...Seriously?"

"A glance is all that's needed. The detective is very good with firearms."

Souji Seta hadn't considered that. He wouldn't be told something like that either if it was a lie. After all...he could confirm it with Naoto as soon as he met up with her. He wouldn't put something like that past her. "...Alright then...I believe it."

"...Did it bother you that much?"

"...N-no...not really. It's nothing, forget it..."

"...Anything else?"

...There was something else...but with some lying suspicion about the gun put to rest, he felt less of a need to ask it. Regardless...he may as well. It would come up sooner or later. "...Whose idea was it to hire me? You said it wasn't Naoto's...I can buy that. But...your explanation for me being hired makes absolutely no sense. You're responding to her desires or something like that?"

"...Not satisfied with that?"

"...No."

"...Hmm...you're more demanding than I'd thought. Mr. Seta...would it be okay if I answered your question with another question?"

"...What?"

"It'll make sense in a moment, I promise."

Souji Seta stared towards the man's face. His expression was unreadable...the pride of an expert poker player perhaps. Same as always, gentle and open but stern. The tone in his voice showed absolutely no signs of aggression or anything suspicious...which, in a way, was more suspicious than anything else. Not bothering to fight it off, Souji allowed it...gesturing briefly to signal Yakushiji's permission to continue.

"...Mr. Seta...did you know that the assailant's gun was going to jam?"

Souji's eyes widened. His voice seemed to jump and hang itself within the cavern of his throat. His fingers tightened...knuckles shading white as he kept them hidden within his trouser pockets. "...What is that supposed to mean?"

"...Do not misunderstand. I am only suggesting that...it was remarkably convenient. The gun jammed. You were perfectly free to leap in and make yourself a hero without any chance of Detective Shirogane being harmed."

"...You...what are you implying?"

"...Mr. Seta, would you say that it's odd that you were the only person who lost consciousness? Despite the fact that witnesses claim YOU delivered the blow...it was only YOU who fell unconscious. I found that to be exceptionally strange. What are the chances? A gun jamming and the assailant managing to escape with only you being knocked out, despite the fact that the assailant hadn't delivered that headbutt. These are two very unsettling coincidences..."

"...You didn't answer me. I said...'What are you implying?'"

"...An old friend comes to town, Mr. Seta. He pours his heart out and causes the person he's meeting to leave prematurely...when, coincidentally, this person is attacked and the old friend steps in to help. It isn't easy to get very close to Detective Shirogane because of the work that comes with the position. But...if something like this were to happen..."

"You're saying I staged it!"

"...I didn't say that."

"You think I staged it and I got this job because you wanted to keep an eye on me!"

"Mr. Seta, please, I didn't say that."

"I quit!"

Souji Seta's hands fled to his collar, clumsy fingers vainly fumbling with the secure knot of his tie. For once, he could see Yakushiji in a moment of extreme discomfort. He gasped and sputtered, eventually lunging forward and grabbing hold of the younger man's wrists. "Mr. Seta, do not be rash! Listen to me, will you? Please!"

...Please. That was a nice word...nice enough to make Souji pause in his rapid undressing, calming himself down and steadying his stance for whatever explanation he'd be given. "...I'm listening."

"...Mr. Seta...you must admit, it is suspicious. You were suspicious of me, were you not? That's why you asked about how I knew the model of the gun? You suspected another...childish ruse to inject some bit of excitement into the detective's life? The d-...she was enough troubles in her life as of late...and I assure you, as mischievious as Mr. Shirogane is...he'd never order anyone to pull a gun out at his granddaughter, even in a jest."

Souji lowered his hands. Yakushiji seemed to take the hint, releasing his stranglehold upon his wrists...taking the time to readjust Souji's tie one last time before he smoothed out the wrinkles of his own business suit. "Mr. Seta...I'd like to have some faith in you...but what transpired is, logically speaking, difficult to believe."

"..."

"...There ARE...some discrepancies that do lead us to believe that what happened was legitimate."

"...Like?"

"Last night, I learned that you were aware that the detective carries a revolver. I questioned the detective about this...and she was quite clear that, prior to meeting her, you knew perfectly well that she carried a gun on her at all times. That means that there was a significant chance of either you or the 'accomplice' being shot in the confusion. We are...not quite sure if you're the kind of person who would risk something like that simply so you could get close to the detective again. Even if you were certain about not being hurt...I will admit, that the idea of using something like this to bridge a gap between you and the detective is awfully complex. Most people would never imagine it actually working."

"...Hm..."

"...But...if it was a ruse...and your intention was to get close to Detective Shirogane...then it worked. It worked without a hitch...and that's what had us suspicious. That's why you were offered this job."

"...You said tha-"

"Naoto...told me not to tell you that it was her idea to offer you employment. I'm not sure why..."

Souji Seta blinked rapidly. His expression softened...only slightly though, before some creeping shadow of doubt once again frothed up into his chest. "...Then...what does Naoto think? You told her about thinking that I set the whole thing up?"

"...I spoke with her quite thoroughly last night. I presented her with just how illogical and impossibly coincidental the incident seemed. I discussed every angle, every possibility, and every suspicious that both I and her grandfather had. I told her explicitly how odd it was for an old friend to distance themselves from her...only to show up again and have this happen. I thought you could be fishing for money...or attempting to gather information on her for an enemy she had made...but no matter what I said, she had the exact same reply."

"...Yeah?"

"...She said...'He is not that kind of person. I want him to have the job.'"

"O-oh..."

Souji Seta...didn't know the proper way to respond to that. He simply let the conversation die...content to stare at his own reflect sadly looking back at him from the shiny exterior of his shoes.

"...Will that be all, Mr. Seta?"

"...What? Oh...well...yeah, almost. Where is...where's her 'grampa'?"

A genuinely curious question this time. No ulterior motives...no delusions of detective's instinct taking hold as with the identity of the assailant's gun. Yakushiji gave a genuinely chuckle, for once...tugging jovially at the edge of his mustache. "...'Grampa'...my my, he does hate when she calls him that in front of other people. Ahem...Mr. Shirogane...is away on business at the moment."

"...Business? He's not...retired?"

"...He is away on business at the moment."

"...You m-"

"He is away on business at the moment, Mr. Seta. That is all."

"...I see."

"...You may speak with him soon, perhaps. I can't tell you whether or not he approves of your current employment or not. He is absolutely dedicated to the notion of Detective Shirogane making her own decisions concerning the Shirogane Detective Agency. Even if he hated you...I don't think he'd step in."

"...That...is not reassuring at all, Yakushiji. Thank you."

"...Hm. Funny. Very well, Mr. Seta...the detective awaits. Follow me."

"...Detective Shirogane?"

"Hm? Yes, Yakushiji?"

"...Mr. Seta has a request."

"...A request?"

"Yes. Mr. Seta has formally requested that you...do not laugh."

"...Huh?"

Naoto Shirogane eyed the aging secretary quizzically from her position in the estate's 'north lounge'. It was her favorite of the estate's various 'sitting rooms'...a very short stroll away from her bedroom as well as her personal study. She didn't spend nearly as much time in the north lounge as she did either of those...but, it seemed like a logical place to meet with visitors and the like. Not to mention...she enjoyed the atmosphere. The hardwood floors as well as the frequently used fireplace gave the entire room a homey, nostalgic atmosphere...and the positioning of the sofa offered a lovely view of the estate's prized gardens, particularly her favorite tree...a London Plane, perfect for climbing. Back in the simple days, it was her 'personal base'...no one allowed in without her expressed permission.

Naoto stared curiously towards the doorway in which Souji was expected to appear. She was dressed casually for her standards. Blue and navy checkered slacks, a simple white dress shirt with sturdy blue suspenders to hold it all together. It was a position that most were unaccustomed to seeing her in. She seemed to have a talent for keeping up that protective bubble of professionalism and androgyny even when at rest. She had slipped her shoes off in an attempt to make the best of her time waiting...sock-covered feet resting comfortably aside one another. Her precious cap looked almost lonesome when not sat atop her head, leaving the head wear in the empty portion of the sofa while giving anyone who entered a rare glance at that fluffy, blue moptop. A single cup of coffee steamed away as she held it within surprisingly dainty fingers, lips pursing to blow at the liquid as she continually glanced towards the door.

There seemed to a rustle in the other room...a sudden shuffling of shoes. Sighing, she took a conservative sip of her coffee before placing it on the antique table before her. "...Souji? Is that you?"

"...He told you not to laugh, right?"

"...Yes, I was well-informed of your personal request. What's wrong?"

"...Just...you'll see. Just remember, no laughing."

Naoto sighed. "...You have my word."

Reasonably comforted by Naoto's words of reassurance, Souji Seta emerged. He cleared his throat repeatedly...left hand slid into his left pocket in a somewhat desperate attempt at appearing at ease. His opposite hand toyed endlessly with the knot of his tie. It seemed okay, but whenever he stopped tugging it felt as if the darn thing was slowly tightening around his neck. His bangs had been brushed hastily forward in some fool's attempt to cover the bandage covered his forehead. He didn't look up...eyes glued to the polished hardwood floor, a subtle hint of red laying across his nose and cheeks. It was a decent fit, at least...even for someone of his height. Long legs, broad shoulders...it made it exceedingly difficult to find any clothing that didn't bunch up in awkward places...but this, in the very least, seemed like a streamlined fit.

...Silly. That's the word. He felt silly...like a homeless man in a formal office building. These weren't his clothes...this isn't how he dressed. He felt as if he was on display...a freakish dried carcass in a glass chamber to be subjected to the insipid theories of any armchair paleontologist that strolled by.

He was afraid to look up...embarrassed, really. More insistently, he tugged and squeezed at the knot of his tie. "...Well? What do you think?"

Silence. No response. God, she was holding it in, wasn't she? She was trying so damn hard not to laugh. He should go change. This was a joke...just a big experiment that had gone horribly wrong. He raised his eyes to meet her, perfectly willing to storm away to another room, strip down, and refuse to wear anything of the sort before he caught sight of her expression.

...A deer in headlights. That was a good way of describing her. It was a rare sight to see. Her eyes, under normal circumstances, never became that wide. Her lips moved, but nothing came out. She trembled slightly. It was as if she'd been asked a dozen different life-changing questions at once and didn't know which one to respond to first. Suddenly, her hand moved...snatching up a handkerchief from her pants pocket and using it to cover her mouth and nose.

Souji Seta sighed. "...Geez...you ARE trying not to laugh."

Naoto's reply was a muffled, nasally one. "Mmph? No, no...that's not it..."

She seemed to be honest. Her voice didn't shake...he couldn't detect any concealed hiccups of impending laughter.

She sniffed loudly, thoroughly wiping at her nose with the handkerchief. When finished, she swiftly folded the scrap of linen...briefly moving to lay it on the table for suddenly changing her mind and thrusting it back into her pocket. For a moment, she held her hand to her chest...leaving it there until her breathing settled. Calmly, she walked over to Souji...pushing his hand away from his neck and taking the tie in hand herself, loosening it considerably. "...Is...that more comfortable?"

"...Yeah...thanks."

She seemed to became painfully aware of how close she'd gotten...removing her hands hurriedly and taking three steps back, crossing her arms and staring...occasionally moving her eyes away before settling back. "...You...look very nice."

"...Ha...you're serious?"

"...Yes...you look very...ummmm...hardboiled..."

"...H-...what?"

"...Like...like one of the detectives I used to admire...i-if that makes sense."

Souji Seta didn't know exactly to respond to that...but, it made him happy. He decided to save his interrogation of Naoto's reasons for demanding that he be hired for later.

"...Oh!" Naoto suddenly reached into her opposite pocket. "...Your wardrobe isn't quite complete yet. There's something else. I think it would be in your best interest to wear it. I hope you don't take offense. While cleaning the guest room you stayed in, one of the maids found it still in the pocket of your blue jeans."

She presented him with a watch...the same handmade treasure that he'd been afraid to wear the day before. She thrust it towards him with both hands...almost timidly, like a schoolgirl giving her first crush a sealed letter of love.

Souji Seta kept his eyes lowered...bangs covering the top half of his face as he silently accepted it. It was then that he noticed Naoto was already wearing hers. Silently, he strapped his own onto his left wrist. It clashed horribly with the rest of his outfit...low-quality plastic not a well-suited accessory to head-to-toe Italian wool, cotton pique, and leather. It made him happy though...in a way that a world-class time-keeper would never have been able.

"It makes sense, doesn't it? Gives an advantage."

"...Y-yes...that is exactly what I was thinking. It's hard to predict when something as simple as this will come in useful. I-I could probably have made something more advanced at this point, but...well, since I'm so busy...and since these both still work as well as they always have, I don't see the logic behind taking the time to upgrade them."

Souji couldn't complain. After all...new ones wouldn't have nearly the amount of sentimentality attached to them. "...Thanks...Naoto..."

"...Now! Since we have all of that taken care of...I should probably, uh...make sure you're familiar with what's going to be expected of you. Follow me..."

As she turned, Souji Seta couldn't help but notice just a tiny bit of red lingering on the tip of her nose.

"...It's better to pinch your nose and tilt your head back, you know..."

"Hm! O-oh...that's right..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some things about this chapter I don't like. I mentioned this somewhere before but I really, really liked ellipses when I wrote this. I also liked things extra-cheesy, I guess. Maybe I still do.


	4. A Briefing

_In which Souji Seta prepares for future labors..._

"Well...this is my office."

"...Th-...err...where is your office?"

"...Hm? Here. It's right here."

"...Is...is it under the pile of garbage?"

"Hm!"

Naoto Shirogane gave a huff, peeling her eyes away from her significantly taller compatriot and giving her personal place of business an appraising stare. She fidgeted...fingers tugging insistently at the brim of her cap, gently pulling it down to shield her eyes. He was surprised she'd worn it here. Apparently, it was only removed when she was at an absolute rest. This would qualify as work, after all. "...It's not...'garbage'. Everything within this room is vital to my work..."

"...So...why is it tossed all over the place?"

Souji Seta proceeded with caution into the proverbial lion's den. The business office of the Detective Shirogane was located in the highest point of the estate, bridged to the main building by a stomach-churningly high spiral staircase. The main building of the estate had four above-ground 'floors', with the detective's office rising even higher than that...a single room at a peak even higher than what should've been the highest floor.. If you included the basement and parking garage, that made five floors in total plus one office. The height shouldn't have been this dizzying to him...but the fact that he had to climb made him painfully aware of the elevation. He was no stranger to mundane stairs...but long, spiraling stairs were a different story altogether. The absence of a working elevator in a place like this was something he couldn't see the logic behind.

Naoto's office was a surprisingly humble affair. While the rest of the estate seemed deceptively simple with leagues upon leagues of history and worth hidden behind it, Souji was unable to view the office as anything more than...well, an office. There wasn't much to see. A single bookshelf in the corner, packed tight with whatever informative literature Naoto deemed necessary for her work. A single desk with a pair of wooden chairs for guests, he assumed. A nice view, at least...the broad window easy to enjoy with a simple swivel from the lush, cushioned detective's chair. Wooden floors, cream-colored drapes...and a torrent of loose papers that would make a papyrophobic go into cardiac arrest. Mounds and mounds of them stacked two feet high clogged the desk and promoted a sense of claustrophobia. They squeezed through the cracks of the file cabinet and caused the entire thing to creak at the slightest movement. A lonely laptop computer sat drearily upon the desk, suffocating up to the top of its screen in carelessly strewn forms and documents and applications. One of the chairs he assumed to be reserved for guests wasn't granted impunity...both papers and half-read books the thickness of Tolstoy novels causing the poor creature's wooden legs to buckle. Dumped onto the floor was something specifically eye-catching...heaps of discarded wires and other electronic paraphernalia that he couldn't quite identify. His nose twitched as he delved yet deeper...tickled by spare particles of thick, cloudy dust. It was everywhere...layers upon layers sticking stubbornly to each corner and every portion of the room that Naoto apparently hadn't bothered to touch for some time.

It wasn't so much the office of an ace detective as it was one of a senile college professor. It was...appalling. Suddenly, a sink of unwashed dishes and two bags of loose trash idly awaiting their demise in the corner of a neglected apartment didn't seem so bad.

Naoto continued to squirm, arms crossing tightly across diminutive chest. The shame of her office's conditions seemed to eat at her more than she'd anticipated. She outright refused to look directly at it...like a poor child enamored by the thought of a solar eclipse but too cowardly to go against the wise advice of not looking directly into it.

"...It WOULD be cleaner...but I don't exactly have very much time on my hands. I actually...don't spend that much time in here. It's painful to admit...but lately, this has been more of a storage space than anything else. Important documents, phone records, background checks...things of that general nature."

"...Hm...you have maids and butlers, don't you? Why don't you get one of them to tidy up?"

Naoto flinched. "When I came back here...from Inaba...I made it very clear that I wanted to take responsibility for this office. Considering the condition it's in now..."

"...You'd be too embarrassed?"

"...Something like that, yes."

"...Huh...then why me?"

Naoto steadied herself, sighing gently and gently slipping her hands along the curve of her hips. "...Were you sincere when you decided to accept this job? You admit that, from this point on, you will be my assistant? Correct?"

"...Sure..."

"...'Sure'?"

"...I mean...yes. Yes, I was sincere."

"Well then...as my personal assistant, you are to take responsibility for those areas in my life in which I do not have appropriate control. That begins with this office. Everything in this room must be thoroughly cleaned and organized, top to bottom."

Souji Seta's face grew pale as he gazed upon the tremendous task before him. What was the point of getting him dressed up if he was just going to dirty himself with something like this? Naoto seemed to sense his apprehension, dispelling it with a modest flourish of her hand. "It's quite alright. You don't have to begin this instant. As you've been told, this is simply an orientation. You are, however, expected to begin work on this first thing tomorrow. Is that acceptable?"

Relief...though, only for a moment. It was more like a delayed sense of dread than anything else...like getting a day off from school when knowing that you were only going to have to work twice as hard to make up for lost time.

"...Oh, wait...I was told I'd be taking your calls from now on. I don't see a phone here..."

Naoto smiled, reaching into her pocket and removed a simple cellphone. Nothing too fancy...the kind of flip phone you'd see carried around by anything under the age of fifty. "...Yakushiji bemoaned my insistence of relying on this instead of a more traditional phone...but you can't deny the practicality of it. I have two phones...a personal phone and a business phone. This is my business phone. It's difficult for me to keep up with what I'm doing when I'm receiving messages from two different lines. From now on, you'll be in charge of my business phone."

"...So...what exactly do I...?"

"Take every call you receive. I would also recommend that you sleep with it near you. You'd be surprised at the hours in which some people will attempt to contact me. Jot down the caller's personal information and their reason for calling...unless it's urgent, in which case you should find me immediately."

"How can I tell if it's urgent?"

"...Hm...for now...it will be best if you just brought every call to my attention. I'll let you know whether or not it was urgent. You'll eventually be able to discern easily between the two. Oh, and, of course, don't confuse this with your personal phone. It's meant only for making and receiving calls that pertain to business. You already have a personal phone, correct?"

Souji nodded. "Hm...yeah. O-oh...but, I left the charger and everything at my apartment..."

Naoto didn't flinch, swiftly removing a second phone from the same pocket. It was a much more 'unique' design...thinner, sleek, pale blue. Wordlessly, she handed the business phone into Souji's care as she dialed a number in a swift blur. The phone didn't even complete a single ring before there was an answer. "...Yakushiji? Have you arranged for all of Mr. Seta's belongings to be sent here? That's fine."

"..."

"...I don't care if he has a newly signed lease. Kindly inform the landlord that he's been called away in important business."

Souji Seta remained quiet...trapped in an awkward shell. He felt like a child...patiently listening to concerned mother informing a disgruntled teacher that you wouldn't be attending class for the day.

"If the rent is the problem then we'll pay for the rest of the month. If the landlord insists on anything more than that, we will firmly decline. If there are any more complaints after that then I'll just have to meet with them personally."

Cold sweat had begun to pool on Souji Seta's forehead. The methodical demeanor with which Naoto conducted business was something truly chilling to see in action. Naoto ended the conversation abruptly, slipping the personal phone back into her trouser pocket with a strangely satisfied curl tugging at the corners of her lips. "...Nothing to worry about. All of your personal belongings should be here by tomorrow morning."

"...D-...don't I need to actually speak with my landlord? Or sign something or-"

"That won't be necessary, at least not for now. For the time being, your main concern is to become situated here."

Souji Seta groaned, nervously rubbing at his forehead. Come to think of it, he never did take any of those pain pills he received from his trip to the hospital. He was overdue for a splitting headache. He fingered the bandaging still slapped to his forehead, noting that the edges were beginning to become loose. "...Geez...they won't mess up my apartment too badly, will they?"

A smooth sigh escaped the detective's throat. She turned, faced him squarely...tipping the brim of her hat up with the edge of her knuckle, fully revealing serious blue eyes. "...You were sincere when you took this job?"

"...Hm? Yeah...I already said so, yeah."

"...You're certain? Absolutely certain?"

"...Yes."

"...Then, please...don't refer to it as 'your' apartment. If you're staying here, then...I'd appreciate it greatly if you began to think of this as your home."

Without delay, Naoto turned away from the disheveled office and beckoned for Souji to follow. He obeyed without question and soundly shut the door behind him.

The tour of the Shirogane Estate was exceedingly tiresome...reason being that there seemed to be very little that was actually important to see and a great deal of space to cover. Souji Seta was grateful that it was Naoto who had opted to intimately introduce him to the estate rather than Yakushiji. If it had been the latter he was certain that they'd still be in the north lounge with the aging secretary gushing on and on about authentic 18th century candle holders or something equally tiresome and unimportant.

Naoto Shirogane, on the other hand, seemed to have a mind for practicality. Her words were few, but they were informative and well-chosen. She was exactly the kind of tour guide that Souji Seta had always dreamed of. Unfortunately, her brain seemed to be a hectic, disorganized mess of a thing. She seemed to choose the next location on a whim rather than going by what was closest. After the introduction to her personal office came that of the expansive library on the second floor...and then her private bedroom on the fourth floor (Souji never actually entered it, but she showed him the location of it just in case he was unable to locate her anywhere else). She kindly pointed out each and every bathroom she came across. The idea of a more permanent lodging for Souji was also discussed. It was practically decided for him. The guest room he'd stayed in on the second floor would've been satisfactory for him...but apparently, as the detective's personal assistant, a different room on the fourth floor would be more convenient. Most of his mornings would be spent in the business office anyway, so it was closer. He'd remain in the guest room with the ticklish carpeting for one more night, but he was assured that his personal belongings from his apartment would be included in a fourth floor room by the next day.

The daring expedition led by the intrepid detective eventually brought the weary Souji Seta to the darkest depths of the Shirogane estate. Delving into the basement, the scenery seemed to drastically turn from a carefully constructed monument to 19th century style and architecture to something significantly dimmer. The color seemed to fade from the walls...tasteful wallpapers giving way to stark concrete.

Naoto seemed unphased by the trek. It made sense. She grew up having to weather the hills and valleys of the monumental home. Souji, meanwhile, only tried to keep himself from vocalizing his discomfort...legs throbbing harshly and bruised cranium joining in tandem.

"...Ahem...this is our...personal parking garage. There are some other employees who, like you, are offered room and board here...so it isn't as if they all belong to-"

"Fifteen, right? Your family owns fifteen of them?"

Naoto's shoulders visibly shrugged, a shakey sigh exiting her through. "...I see Yakushiji has already bragged about the family's affinity for automobiles."

He could practically feel the tense uneasiness that flowed from the detective's body. She was modest about her wealth...that was a good thing, at least. The parking garage was something truly massive...though, in a way, it wasn't that impressive. In terms of scale, sure...it was certain large. In terms of style, it was just concrete, yellow lines, and parking barriers. In a way, it was the most practical place in the entire estate. Perfect for Naoto, perhaps.

The vehicles themselves were certainly certain to swoon over. Though Souji didn't have much of an eye for vehicles, he knew money when he saw it. Most of them were older models...with several other pre-war tourers much like the one Naoto personally charioted herself in. The majority of them, however, were newer models...not modern-new, but 'new'...collectible mainstays from years that hadn't been forgotten yet, with several practical models presumably there to serve a purpose rather than to simply look nice. Naoto spoke on, still moving.

"Most of these are showpieces. My parents, from what I've been told, were quite fond of their vehicles. The garage used to be more...'elaborate', with lighting specifically arranged to enhance each vehicle's inherent aesthetic qualities...but I didn't really take after their adoration of presentation. To be perfectly honest, I had considered selling some of them...but I believe they still hold a great deal of sentimental value to both Yakushiji and Grampa."

"...Hn...I wasn't aware that detective work was so lucrative."

"It isn't. Detective work and wise financial investing, however, is. Anyway, that's neither here nor there. There's only one car here that you need to worry about..."

As they approached her signature vehicle, a certain sparkle embedded itself within the detective's eyes. She removed her hat briefly...beating it gently against her thigh with a strange sense of pride as she admired the glistening ride that the pair had paused before. Souji also couldn't help but marvel at the sheer size of it. They definitely didn't make them like they used to. Compared tot he compact sensibilities of modern auto developers, it was an absolute behemoth...

"...1933 Cadillac V16 Convertible Victoria. When you're out with me...this is what we'll be riding in."

"...Looks...expensive."

"...Eheh...it is...very, very expensive. It took years before I was finally able to receive consent from Grampa to drive it freely. Yakushiji still resents the notion. If he were present I'd say you'd be getting quite the earful about it. Something about 'It's a car to be driven in, not to drive'."

Souji Seta gave a low whistle as he stooped down near the tires, staring thoughtfully at his reflection winking back at him within the silver spokes. "...Aren't you...afraid of something happening to it?"

"I'm very careful...and I only do investigation. I don't make arrests...so there's never any need to drive very fast. Shintate is a relatively small place with narrow roads. No one drives fast here."

"...What about if you get called in for a case far away?"

"If it's too far then we'll just have to take a plane."

"...Aren't old cars like this notoriously difficult to drive nowadays?"

Naoto gave a smirk...a rare gesture. Not the rarest, though, which would've been a complete smile. In the very least, he was accustomed to seeing a sly half-smile such as this when something she truly cared about was touched upon. "...They are...but, you said you can drive manual, correct? It's still very different...but since I'll be with you, I can teach you. As impractical as it may be...I really, really enjoy this car. I personally made sure that it was restored as much as possible without significantly altering the chassis and body. The engine has been altered, however...for obvious reasons. It's done irreparable damage to the value, but...as I've suggested, I'm not pre-occupied with details such as that."

She went on...a hint of nostalgia gleaming through her soft expression, circling the car as if to re-familiarize herself with every aspect of it. "...When I was just a child...this was always my favorite car. I fell in love with the color...and it felt just like one of the cars that the hero would always drive in one of my detective serials. I used to sneak down here when I was certain no one was looking and sit in the driver's seat...turning the wheel and mindlessly jiggling the gear shift as if I was in pursuit of a dastardly culprit."

She settled back in front of the vehicle...hat-shadowed eyes seemingly dazzled by the shine of the grill. "...I really...detest the idea of something existing simply so it can be 'pretty'. That kind of existence is extremely disheartening...to be simply so you can be admired and dressed and put on display as something gorgeous and unattainable. So...I decided that it would be a shame to allow this car to sit here and rot. No matter what Yakushiji says, I won't budge...this is the only car that I've enjoyed myself in."

Souji Seta gave a deep half-chuckle, rising to his feet and pressing his palms to the small of his back...bending forward until he heard a satisfying 'crk!' "...Didn't expect you to begin waxing philosophical about something like this."

Naoto's face contorted into something gravely serious...hurriedly turning her eyes away while pushing an open hand towards Souji, a single glittering key hanging from between her fingers. "...Here. Just take it...quickly."

Souji Seta paused. His heart sank. It was like a single mother forcing herself to give away her only child. "...Are you...sure?"

"...I-it's just a spare...I have one as well. But...as you will be my chauffeur from this point forward, you will now be responsible for driving me when I require your services."

"...Y-...y'know, you don't have to. I mean...you can drive it just fine, right? Haha...why don't I just ride shotgun?"

"...Do not make this more difficult than it already is. It's logical...I will be able to focus more heavily on my work when I don't have to focus on driving."

Guilt washed over him...but as an employee, where was his right to refuse. Naoto winced the moment his fingers touched the offered key...taking it into his palm like a dirty, long-hidden secret and stuffing it into his pants pocket as quickly as he could. He had still yet to fully understand her reasoning...but the pang of pessimistic doubt throbbed ever-present in the background of his mind.

_Sympathy job. She's trying to make me feel more important...she feels sorry for me. Sympathy job._

He stuffed the thoughts down into the deepest, dankest pit of his stomach. Naoto's tension didn't relieve itself as soon as the key was out of sight, contrary to Souji's assumption. "...Take the key out, Souji..."

"...Hm? What? Why?"

"...I think the best method for solving this problem is the same that's so often used when pulling away a stubborn, painful bandage. Do it fast, get it over with. I'll inform Yakushiji. We're going for a drive..."

Souji Seta's limbs were quaking...a thin layer of sweat had formed along the edges of his temples. He breathed more rapidly...his mouth dry, habitually licking at his lips as if that would somehow ease the hot, sandy quality of his mouth. It only made it worse. He was disturbingly familiar with this feeling. It was the same feeling most any young person experienced on their first driving test. Strapping into a monstrous pre-war tourer was just the kind of stimulation that caused his brain to regress until he was walking in the shoes of himself from four years prior.

He had jumped when he started the beastly thing. The ignition was louder than he expected, but it quickly softened into an almost pleasant vibrato purr. Naoto had laughed at his reaction. He couldn't blame her...though, part of him couldn't help but wonder how she'd managed to calm herself so much. Because of him, maybe. He once recalled her admitting that she had a tin ear for the feelings of others...but in this case, she seemed to be reading his discomfort rather well. Maybe because it was so obvious...

The interior of the car was something to be admired. Every bit as sleek as eye-catching as the exterior had proven to be. Again, the word 'classy' was the only thing that could come to mind...from the wooden hull of the dashboard to slick, polished steering wheel and clear antique gauges. He didn't expect a radio and AC to be included...but apparently he underestimated the innovation of the American 1930's. The radio was something alien to him...simply a set of shining knobs and a menacing mesh of material from which the sound was expected to pour from. He didn't ask whether or not it still worked, not knowing if Naoto was even the type to listen to music while driving. The seats were set much higher than he was accustomed to, giving him a sense of vertigo that he had never attributed to driving.

His grip on the wheel was harsh and vice-like despite the rapid shaking of his hands. Surprisingly, the driving gloves helped. He didn't quite see the point in them...but something about wearing a pair of gloves made him feel more 'powerful' than normal. His eyes shifted erratically from the road stretching out in front of him and the silver Goddess hood ornament carefully perched just above the Cadillac's majestic grill. He didn't think much of it at first...but already, he was becoming fond of it. Like a beacond...a magnificent guiding beauty draped in light sent from Heaven to guide him away from ditches, railings, and anything else that might put an eyesore of a dent in a car that was probably worth more than he was.

He was mildly pleased to see that Naoto's description of the streets surrounding and comprising Shintate was true. They seemed perfect for Sunday drivers...or just anyone who had little experience in driving an 80-year-old car. The streets were slim, the traffic extremely thin. Seeing as they were in no hurry Souji felt comfortable enough to chug along the smooth, welcoming roads at a comfortable 30 mph.

The fabric top had been pulled back, allowing both of the vehicle's occupants to be licked at by the cool rush of air that whistled past them. Naoto had been very insistent on letting the top down. It was sunny and comfortable enough, sure...but more importantly, Souji suspected that she thought the cool air would calm his nerves. He didn't thin it was working. The rush of cold air entering his ears only seemed to amplify the pain of a lingering head injury. Long, silver bangs whipped recklessly about to expose the loosening bandage that covered his sore. They drove in circles...Naoto's intentions purely to make Souji familiar with her prized vehicle. They kept away from the main town, for the most part...a lovely day of enjoying the picturesque green scenery.

She hadn't said much since they'd actually gotten on the road. She stared away from him...officer's lap lain neatly within her lap, presumably from the fear that it may have blown off during the trip. There was no basis for her fear though. Souji didn't intend to go very fast at all. He couldn't see her facial expression. It was difficult to tell just what she thought of the ride. He decided to speak up...

"...Sooo...uhhh...how fast does this thing go? Not that I intend to go very fast or anything!"

"...Hmmm? Oh..." She had been daydreaming. That was reassuring. She snapped swiftly out of her reverie before giving a proper reply. "...Not very fast. I believe the top speed is something close to 80 miles per hour. The engine is quite powerful, but it's mostly because the vehicle itself is so heavy."

"...Ahh...gotcha. No high-speed pursuits in the foreseeable future..."

Naoto stared quizzically, leaning over to get a glance at the speedometer before giving a mild huff. "...Go faster."

"Faster?"

"Yes. Not by very much. Just let me see you shift gears..."

Souji was afraid to refuse...or even to really look her in the eye as he did so. He kept his eyes on the road, fingers rattling as he reached blindly for the shift before moving his foot to the clutch. He tugged at the stick gently at first before giving a more insistent tug...greeted only in return with a loud, angry war cry of loudly scraping contraptions. The engine stalled. "Shit..."

He mumbled that as low as he was able, as if hiding from his parent a newfound ability to identify naughty words. He didn't see her do it, but he could feel Naoto wince with every horrific sound the car made. He audibly sighed, staring at her new chauffeur expectantly. "...S-...sorry..."

"...Don't apologize. Restart the car. We'll try it again."

"...Dammit..." Again, muttered softly enough to reveal that he was ashamed of his weakening vocabulary. If you go through enough annoyances in laugh, that's bound to happen.

He twisted the key in the ignition as if it were going to snap in half at any moment...gently bringing the vehicle to a living rumble before starting again.

Naoto watched carefully...eyes half-lidded in visible irritation from the experience. "...Push down the clutch and put your hand on the gearshift."

He obeyed...easing his foot onto the clutch as if it were made of rapidly melting butter and gently wrapping long fingers around the tip of the gear lever. Before he could even move, a pressure pushed down on his gloved hand. Naoto shifted herself slightly closer, joining hands atop the wobbling gearshift. Her grip was firmer than he had expected...slightly masculine even...though, with a layer of Italian leather impeding actual contact, he couldn't tell if her skin was as soft as it used to be. Despite her grip, her hands were remarkably small...thin digits sinking down between the gaps between Souji's much thicker fingers. She squirmed in her seat, sighing gently before she finally managed to get a proper squeeze.

He glanced sideways in her direction. She avoided direct visual contact, he couldn't see her face. She shook like a stubborn leaf. She hadn't gotten any better with being physically close to people, it seemed. Suddenly, his arm jerked. The Cadillac seemed to lurch, a sudden vibrating roar quaking through his seat...a swift electric shiver and went from gearshift to vehicle to occupant. To be honest...it was thrilling. He grunted as Naoto forcefully tugged both his arm and the sturdy gear stick in the necessary direction, prompting him to give the vehicle a little more speed.

"Nngh! S-see? This isn't like a modern car. You have to be very, VERY firm. Understand?"

She pulled herself away almost immediately, squeezing at both of her bare hands before impulsively slipping on her cap and tugging the black 'n blue brim down to meet with the bridge of her nose. A kiss of cherry color persisted along the bridge of a button nose...chest rising and falling with an unusual quickness.

"...Yeah, Naoto...I think I got it now."

Several practice shifts later, Naoto Shirogane breathed a sigh of absolute relief. She adjusted her collar with a single hand, a more optimistic smile spreading across round face as she took in the sunny view. "...Well...that's enough. We can go back to the estate now."

"...I take it you'd rather not tempt fate?"

"That isn't it!"

Souji almost laughed at the sudden strange tone of her voice. He remembered that now. When she got excited, her voice jumped...barrier of forced masculinity peeling back to reveal that she could get quite a bit higher. She nearly squeaked. She held up her hands as if to defend her position, waving them both to dispel whatever fog of misunderstanding had pooled around her companion's head. "Really. You're doing quite well...much better than I had anticipated..."

"...Sooo...you expected me to crash and burn?"

She seethed, scowling gently. "...Stop that. That wasn't what I intended to say. I think...that I would be comfortable with you driving me...at least for now. If it rains or snows in the near future, please don't be offended if I request a follow-up session."

He refrained from teasing any further, leaving her with only a velvety chuckle as she guided him along the quickest route back to the estate. He still knew very little about the layout of the surrounding area's roads. He imagined that he'd be taking direct directions from her for quite some time.

Souji felt considerably more relaxed at this point. There was definitely something...'special' about driving a car like this. Once he put the price out of it out of his mind, he believed he'd come to enjoy it. "...How...much does a car like this cost anyway?"

"Hmm...if you've become interested in that sort of thing, it may be best to ask Yakushiji or one of the mechanics. Though, if I recall, current market price would be around...twenty-four?"

"...Twenty-four...thousand yen?"

Naoto laughed. Not derisive, not out of cruelty. He should be happy about that, right? She took it as a joke. "...Oh, no...twenty-four million yen, approximately."

Souji Seta wanted so desperately to laugh...but unfortunately, he knew it wasn't a joke. His skin became clammy, his pulse quickened. Another subject, another subject.

"SO...tomorrow then? That's when I...'start'?"

"Yes, that is correct...that is, if you're feeling up the task. You may want to rest for several more days...because of your unfortunate injury. You were given a prescription, correct?"

Souji Seta grunted. "...Tomorrow, I'll start."

"Bu-"

"I signed up for this. I'll start tomorrow. No worries."

Naoto's expression, like usual, was difficult to see through. She was either proud or worried. He couldn't tell which. "Very well..."

"...So, what? Tomorrow we go...investigate a crime scene? Bust some criminals?"

Naoto smiled knowingly, shaking her head. "...More than likely, no. Important cases that I feel like I should bother with are more of a rarity than someone may imagine. Very little ever happens in a place like this...and as for faraway cases, I'm reluctant to take them given my tight schedule. The attempted theft of my life yesterday afternoon was probably the biggest slice of news to happen in quite some time. More than likely, that's all we'll be focusing on for some time...and even then, I don't have much confidence in finding the perpetrator. Though I hate to admit it...he got away quite cleanly. For now, a questioning of locals and a dive into personal records for any with a personal vendetta against me are the best I can do. The Shintate police are already investigating the situation to the best of their ability. We'll assist where we can."

"...Doesn't that...worry you? At all? If someone's out to kill you then...shouldn't you not be having some random gentleman driving you about with the top down?"

"...It's fine. I've already decided that I don't want to be the type of person who flees from a threat. And besides...I have you now."

"...Hn...that really makes you feel safe?"

"Yes."

No hesitation. She spoke that single word with absolute, unflinching conviction. Souji Seta couldn't find the words to respond. He lost the resolve to question her intentions for hiring him...focusing solely on the road ahead. Slowly, they approached the Shirogane Estate just before early evening.


	5. The First of Many

_In which Souji Seta must actually work..._

Over the course of three days Souji Seta had begun to experience a sensation that he had, not too long ago, thought to be something that he'd never be able to attain again. Banishing any doubts he still harbored concerning his new position, he was cautiously beginning to identify that long-forgotten sensation as one of a laborer's pride...a subtle satisfaction attached to a full day of purposeful activity.

He still felt out of place...as if he were walking in the shoes of someone else, a curious alien inhabiting the hollowed husk of a recent victim...walking amongst the enemy and slowly gaining their trust. However, to the credit of those around him, he felt as if he were a kindly invader...treated with care and consideration despite any inherent ineptitude. He stuck out like a sore thumb, but at least he'd been properly cleaned and bandaged to prevent infection.

He allowed himself the pleasure of a deep sigh as he sank into the generously cushioned chair that should have been reserved for Naoto herself. He didn't know if any of the other employees of the estate would take offense...but he was certain that Naoto herself was logical enough to not see in any harm in it, and that was enough for him. He stretched out his legs, fighting the temptation to slip off those leather dress shoes and freely wriggle his sock-clad feet against one another. He gazed upon his current pride...remarking to himself. "...That's not bad, huh?"

It had been a three-day labor, but he had finally gotten it. Detective Shirogane's office was now functional once more. The organization of the files took the longest...often having to inquire with Naoto herself about the origin or purpose of certain documents. He caught on after a day and a half and was finally able to complete the task without any further outside help. A place for everything and everything in its place...each and every form, receipt, and notice meticulously alphabetized and once again given shelter amongst the looming file cabinet and multiple spare drawers. It gave him a strange sense of 'power'. Until now, Naoto had relied on memory rather than organization...instinctively able to locate what she needed, when she needed it from the disaster area of her office. The notion of him teaching her the logic behind his overhaul of the office's documents was something that gave him a guilty sense of pleasure. As selfish and despicable as he found it...the idea of her relying on him made him wickedly, disgustingly happy.

Souji Seta wasn't exactly a professional housekeeper, but his cleaning job shined through as well. It was remarkable just how much a single room could sparkle after a rundown with a rag and a bottle of surface cleanser.

Contrary to his initial perception of a detective's assistant, the days had been uneventful. He'd begun the long process of melting into a routine.

Up at 4:00 AM...showered and dressed shortly after. Breakfast, for him, was always agonizingly quick and brief. A shot of coffee, a stomach full of toast and a single poached egg, and then he was starting the day. Lunch and dinner, which were also provided at the expense of the estate, tended to be better...western food, mostly. The estate's chef, apparently, was quite accomplished. The majority of his time had been spent figuring out how to get around and the painful task of fixing up the detective's office. He'd chauffeured Naoto about several times...but it was largely for unimportant matters that wouldn't have called for one otherwise. He was also informed, quite late, by Yakushiji that his responsibilities as chauffeur also included general upkeep of Naoto's 1933 Cadillac. Nothing too technical...just a wash and a polish after every outing. Naoto herself didn't seem too concerned about it...but at Yakushiji's insistence, he took to the task. As far as work went, it was oddly relaxing anyway...therapeutic even. There was something indescribably fulfilling about a well-polished car...

Taking Naoto's calls was probably his least favorite part of the job. They came infrequently, but at the strangest hours...and from the strangest people. He still wasn't confident enough to deem most calls as 'not urgent', usually rushing to find Naoto as soon as possible...only to have the call dismissed as 'unimportant'. He'd yet to receive an 'urgent' phone call. Naoto had been understanding enough...but he doubted he'd ever fully understand her criteria for urgency.

True to what he'd been told, he was moved to a room on the 4th floor and his belongings were retrieved from his little nest of squalor...mostly in cardboard boxes. He'd feel strange if he unpacked them and decorated any room with his things. They'd stand out horribly. A 1/144 model of a Gelgoog Marine Cima hardly seemed like the appropriate accent piece to maroon drapes and an antique wooden bed frame.

The time he had actually spent with Naoto had been remarkably slim, despite his title of personal assistant. She wasn't lying when she said that her schedule was a busy one. That one day of orientation had been quite a schedule-breaking sacrifice. The time he spent with her was, by large, difficult to enjoy given the business-oriented nature of most of their meetings. Still...he was beginning to remember why he had enjoyed being around her. The precise and elegant nature of her mannerisms...she was a capable and straightforward conversationalist with a hidden core of sentimentality beneath all the roughage. It wasn't the same as it was before...but it could be worse.

It definitely wasn't where he saw himself. A few days could make quite a difference in someone...scooped up from his dreary, desperate life and shoved into a less dreary, but still desperate, life...like a forgotten princess in poverty slung into the arms of a dashing prince.

...The mental image of himself in silk and stilettos jumping into the five-foot-nada Naoto Shirogane's arms made him shudder. He didn't even want to consider the thoughts of his friends or family who discovered the sudden decision for employment as a detective's assistant despite absolutely no formal training of any kind.

Souji Seta moved to loosen his tie as he leaned drastically back, idly rubbing at his forehead all the while. He'd taken the bandage off yesterday. There was still some light discoloration and soreness, but it had gone down tremendously. He'd finally given in and taken some of the pills that had been described for the past two nights...but at this point, he didn't really think he needed them. He considered flushing the rest to resist future temptations.

"...Are you comfortable?"

Souji Seta jumped, nearly falling from the chair. The realization of what he must look like lounging far back into a chair that wasn't his with tie loose about his neck suddenly filled him with a sort of anxious humiliation. Naoto Shirogane stood in the doorway with an illusive smile...cap removed and held loosely to her side as she surveyed the room. "That's quite alright. I think you've earned some time off of your feet. I have to admit...I'm impressed. It seems every bit as tidy as it was before I was given free reign of it..."

Despite Naoto's reassurances, Souji Seta rose from his seat...though, for his own comfort, he kept his tie loose. "Think you can find your way around it for now?"

"...Well, let me think think...where are my electr-"

Souji didn't let her finish the sentence...quickly tapping the side of his shoe against a cardboard box slipped discretely beneath the main desk. "Wires and things? All in here."

"...Tax documents?"

"File cabinet, bottom drawer."

"Police reports."

"Top drawer."

Naoto giggled...it was a strange sound to hear her make after dies of monotone conversation. It was...flowery...almost musical. He didn't know whether or not it suited her. "...Very well. Let's leave it at that. I leave any future maintenance to you. Maybe now I can make some legitimate use out of this room. You have my gratitude. If Yakushiji knew just how long I'd neglected something like this I'd be enduring quite the lecture..."

Souji Seta opened his mouth to reply, a genuine smile lighting up his face at some of the only semi-casual conversation he'd had for more than half of a week before he was interrupted. A phone...Naoto's business phone. Souji sighed, promptly removing the phone from his pocket and answering. Simply because Naoto was there, he may have spoken just a bit more carefully than usual. "Shirogane Detective Agency."

Souji Seta performed a sideways glance towards his employer. Some odd sense of happiness seemed to bubble forth from her...arms crossed more gently than usual, eyes subtly closed and a smile twitching beneath her nose. He wasn't sure why. Some stalking portion of his suspicious mind seemed to suggest that it was because she never expected him to be even partially competent in his performance.

Souji conversed with the man on the other line for a little under a minute. The voice annoyed him...seemed like the type of person to over-enunciate everything. A voice that loved to hear itself talk...but for the sound of it rather than Yakushiji's love of description. Stone-faced, Souji cupped his hand over the phone before speaking to Naoto.

"...Daiki Vavasseur?"

Her smile vanished. "I'm busy. Currently engrossed in vital business matters. What does he want?"

"I don't think he wants anything. He's dead. Police are investigating it as a homicide." 

Naoto didn't say a word. He missed the change in her expression as she snatched the phone away from her assistant. "Yes, this is Detective Shirogane."

Souji Seta had been informed to wait for Naoto in the parking garage while she discussed pressing matters with Yakushiji. He would've felt hurt or even demoralized for not being included in whatever it was to be discussed...but if he hadn't been asked beforehand, he probably would've volunteered to stay with the car anyway. It wasn't as if he was explicitly ordered down here, right? He wasn't a little kid.

He ignored the urge to relieve the stiffness of his legs by leaning against the immaculate exterior of the Cadillac. He might have done something like that a few days prior...but after washing and polishing it himself he felt like it would've been counter-productive.

He did whatever small, twitchy things he could to occupy his mind...slipping his driving gloves on and off repeatedly, twisting his tie, clicking the edges of his shoes together. He still had mixed feelings about the suit and all that came with it...but he was beginning to grow fond of how many things there were on it to occupy his time. It was distracted young man's dream. He was dressed much the same way as he had been for the last few days...black on white with a seven-button vest and his sleeves rolled past his elbows. He still didn't have the hang of the tie...but most any other employee, even when Souji protested, eased the process.

The sound of approaching footsteps shattered his tension-relieving rituals...two pairs. Naoto and Yakushiji strolled side by side. Seeing Naoto approach, for some reason or another, made him realize just how more varied her wardrobe seemed than his own. Souji, perhaps, was a creature of extreme habit...still wary of the idea of wearing anything that include cuff links and a tie. He was doing his best to become accustomed to what he had...though, other than that, the attire black vest and curled-to-this-elbow sleeves just seemed 'appropriate'.

Naoto seemed to shift sporadically...though, it always men's attire...and it was almost always blue. Black trousers...blue dress shirt with a relaxed collar, allowing her own collarbone to be exposed to the air...pale yellow tie, and naturally, the ever-present officer's cap.

Yakushiji spoke. "Detective, are you s-"

"It's fine. I suspect that Shintate law enforcement are only causing an unnecessary stir anyway. Feel free to return to your normal duties."

Souji didn't bother leaping into the conversation, despite the fact that he felt like doing so. His posture straightened as they drew near...wordlessly circling the Cadillac and opening the passenger's side door expectantly. Naoto paused abruptly. "...What are you...?"

Souji quirked an eyebrow, gesturing to the interior of the vehicle with his opposite hand. "...Aren't you getting in?"

Naoto blinked rapidly before clearing her throat...casually brushing the brim of her cap slightly lower along her forehead. "...O-oh...of course. Thank you..."

Yakushiji pursued, nervous shell of his usual self. He prattled on, raising vague complaints while having each one of them swatted away with assurances that everything was under control.

Souji Seta strolled back around to the driver's side of the car where Yakushiji impeded his path.

"M-Mr. Seta...now, are you aware of what's going to be happening?"

"...She's going to investigate a crime scene, right?"

"...Well, yes...but are you aware of what YOU should be doing?"

"Whatever she needs me to?"

"N-...well, yes...ummm...OH! Do remember that you are also to function as a bodyguard, so-"

"Keep close to her unless asked otherwise?"

"...Protection! Yes, that's right, you'll need this."

It was only then that Souji noticed the elderly man had been carrying something that looked like a warped black rectangle. Carefully, it was offered into his hands.

"...A stungun?" Souji remarked.

"120,000 volts. Ones of that voltage are often used by law enforcement, so it should work exceedingly well. Of course, issuing you a firearm would be out of the question considering current gun laws. It was a painful procedure to even get the detective legal authority to carry a handgun. It involves a written exam and...well, it's very labor-intensive."

Souji Seta regarded the nonlethal weapon with a mildly curious stare before pocketing it. "...So, pull the trigger and stick it to someone, I guess?"

"Hm? Y-yes...of course, you will require proper provocation to do so. No need to be stingy when you do have to use it, of course. It IS nonlethal...and, if you had ever had one used on you, you'd be aware that there's rarely any impending soreness after usage."

"...Right...got it."

"...O-oh! And also-"

The frantic Yakushiji and increasingly uncomfortable Souji were interrupted abruptly by the clearing of a nearby throat. "...Yakushiji...we really must be going. Souji, I'll explain the situation on the way, if that's acceptable."

Souji lept at the opportunity. Whatever it was...it had to be better than being treated like a 5-year-old on a search and rescue mission.

The roar of a rumbling pre-war tourer quaking beneath his eyes was something surprisingly comforting. The top wasn't down...he assumed that it would seem far too loose and casual to approach the scene of a murder in such a fashion anyway. It had gotten dark...surprisingly potent headlights brightening the dark expanse of lonely small-town road in front of him. Naoto didn't begin speaking until they'd actually left the garage, for whatever reason.

"...From what I've been told, the body was found at approximately 8:15 PM."

Souji Seta craned his head in a vain attempt to look at his watch in the evening gloom.

"...The time, Souji, is currently 9:45 PM."

Souji nodded, decided it best to keep his eyes glued to the road in front of him. "...I...thought you said that this kind of thing was rare in Shintate."

"It is. Exceedingly rare. That's exactly why I found it necessary to make haste to the scene."

"Do they usually call in outside detectives this early?"

"Under normal circumstances, no. It just so happens, however...that the Vavasseur family has very close ties to the Shirogane Estate."

"...'Vavasseur'?"

"It's French. Well, to be precise, the current Vavasseur family residing here is French-Japanese...remnants of French representatives sent to assist in the modernization of Japan during the 19th century. Daiki Vavasseur, as it so happens, is...WAS the current acting patriarch of the Vavasseur family. He wasn't very popular either. Xenophobic sentiment was prevalent even his ancestors decided to marry into the country. Of course, that wasn't the only reason that so many people reviled him..."

"...Why such close ties with them then? If you don't mind me asking..."

"...Financial reasons. Daiki Vavasseur's father, at one time, was quite close to my Grampa. The two estates mutually benefited from one another during difficult times. Amiable ties with them have weakened considerably since Daiki became the head of the family...but there's still a history there. I suppose it's duty, then...that makes for the reason why I intend on taking a special interest in this case."

"...Hm...so, you think he was really murdered?"

"The police do. I won't be able to make any judgments on the matter until I actually see the crime scene."

"...How did they say he was...?"

"I didn't bother to ask. I prefer to see things for myself...especially when the crime scene is so recent. Given the constraints of both time and distance...it's quite rare for me to be able to investigate something such as this..."

In a moment of weakness, Souji Seta's eyes fled from the road before him. Naoto was in the same position she seemed to be in while riding in the passenger's seat...arms loosely crossed with eyes cast towards the rapidly passing scenery. Through her reflection in the window, he could see the faintest glimmer of fire resting in the back of her eyes...a certain determined flourish rising up into her tone of voice as well.

...She was excited. As sick and morbid as it sounded, she was genuinely excited...full of energy and eager to tackle the task. She loved what she did.

"...Turn left here...then keep going straight until you reach a four-way intersection. Once there, turn right. Continue on after that and the manor should be on your right."

Naoto, naturally, gave the directions. He suppressed a modest smile as he followed them to the letter...basking in the glow of silence before he simply asked whatever was on his mind.

"...Do they even have any suspicions of who the culprit is?"

"...Some. Daiki was a very paranoid individual, I'd wager. The security of his home was very tight...and there was near constant video surveillance of the outside of his manor. The private security who worked for him are currently cooperating with police in reviewing the surveillance footage...though, it could take quite some time. They're rushing, but they still want to be thorough. Until further notice, none of the employees are allowed to leave the premises."

"...So...they think the culprit may have been someone who had already been inside the manor?"

"...From what the police have told me...they're fairly convinced that the perpetrator came from outside. But, again, I don't want to jump to any conclusions until I've actually seen the condition of the manor myself."

"...Probably for the best. That makes sense."

Naoto paused for a brief moment before turning away from the window...tilting her head towards her driver. "...Souji...if I may, I have a request."

"Yes?"

"...While we're here...and really, during any situation like this in which you're with me...I'd appreciate it if you didn't call me 'Naoto'."

Souji blinked slowly before realization dawned on him, keeping his eyes focused in front of him. "...You'd prefer 'Detective Shirogane'?"

She smiled...a relieved nod following as she turned back. "...I'm glad you've picked up on that."

"...Would you also like me to refrain from using 'he' or 'she' in reference to you..."

"...I-it's not...as if I'm ashamed of my sex...but even then, I can't help think that I'd command more respect as a man. If people assume that I'm a man then that's fine. I won't outwardly state anything of that sort...but I'd prefer not to correct people."

"...Fair enough. If no one asks then I won't tell..."

"...What about you then?'

"...Huh?"

"Calling you by first name seems unprofessional. What would you prefer?"

"...Colonel?"

"...

"...Fine, fine...Sir Hercule Poirot then."

She snorted...a rarity given her refined and precise method of speech, quickly melting into a string of stomach-shaking laughs. "Pfffhaha...Hercule Poirot was never knighted."

"...Monsieur Hercule Poirot then..."

"...Wouldn't you prefer to settle with...'Mr. Seta'?"

"...You sound like Yaku-"

"Don't say it."

"...Fine, fine...'Mr. Seta', then."

Naoto smiled in satisfaction. "...You're beginning to behave much more like the Souji I remember."

"...How's that?"

"Slightly aloof...and much more intelligent than you give yourself credit for..."

The Vavasseur manor was swarmed by police cars...cherry-colored swells of pulsating light littering the exterior of the relatively modest (at least compared to Naoto's home) estate. A field of blood-colored fireflies, collectively signaling the patriarch's abrupt passing. Equaling the presence of law enforcement was the presence of the media.

It was to be expected. In a rich town that thrives upon novelty, every single person with a camera, a notepad, a rapidly running mouth, and a pocket full of questions loitered and flooded the perimeter of the estate.

Souji Seta struggled to find an appropriate parking spot...persistent paranoia strongly advising him not to park near any vehicle he suspected to belong to anyone who wouldn't care about putting a scratch on a car like a 1933 Cadillac. Even the tiniest bump might be enough to bankrupt him.

The pair exited the vehicle cautiously...quickly coming to stand side-by-side just in front of the antique car. The suffocating crowd that had gathered was enough to make Souji feel more self-conscious than he should have. Suddenly, he aware that his tie just a tiny bit off-center. His forehead throbbed...light bruising seeming to feel more noticeable than ever. More than anything, he became extremely aware of the difference in height between him and the detective that he was to be assisting. She barely came up to his shoulder. The fact that the vast majority of people mistook her for a man suddenly became a subject of amusement.

...It was remarkable to know that she was more concerned with her gender than anything else. He was grateful that she hadn't developed a Napoleon complex. Despite her stature, her stance was one of confidence...a commanding presence with sharpened eyes flicking rapidly about to survey her surroundings and thin arms coiled firmly across her chest.

Souji remarked. "...So...do we find someone and tell them that we've arrived, or do...we...?"

Nothing of the sort, apparently. Naoto strode confidently forward, bidding her assistant to follow with a modest brandishing of her fingers. Souji hesitated for a scrap of a moment before he followed...a portion of his confidence shattered as he sympathized with the idea of a big, big dog on a short, short leash.

He slipped his hands smoothly into his pockets, keeping his eyes forward...not bothering to twist his neck as his eyes glanced to either side of himself. The Vavasseur estate was an aesthetic nightmare...the polar opposite of the elegant subtlety and modest appeal of the Shirogane home. The designers of the landscaping and, indeed, everything about the estate seemed to go out of their way to make it all look as gaudy and 'majestic' as possible. Looming shrubs skillfully pruned into garish representations of seemingly random symbols or animals. An elephant...a man...a crane...something that looked like a fish, but he couldn't even be sure. Fountains...one, two...four. Four fountains, greedily spitting out crystal clear water in attention-starved displays. The amount of mindless money expenditure was almost nauseating. The owner of the manor, rest his soul, seemed the type to spend money for the sake of spending it. In the very least, the expensive quality of Shirogane Estate was one of thought and taste.

Naoto's stride was impressive. No pauses, no detours...straight ahead, waiting for people to remove themselves from her path rather than weaving around it. The pair approached the main entrance...a blindingly gaudy set of gold-rimmed double doors set in the middle of a purposeless marble arch. Souji Seta recognized it as western architecture...but it was a far stretch from the quality he'd been introduced to at his current 'home'.

A uniform-clad local officer awaited staunchly near the entrance, frequently turning media leeches away as Naoto and Souji approached. He recognized her immediately, taking the time to give a modest salute. "Detective Shirogane, sir! We've been expecting you. If you will wait just one moment I'll find someone to escort you to the crime scene."

She nodded understandingly. "Very well. It seems as if you're having trouble with keeping people out as it is."

"Hm. We're only allowing a certain number of reporters inside the premises at a time. They keep trying to overstep their boundaries though. We tell them that no one is allowed inside the room where we think the murder took place and they just don't l-...hey, pal, I'm gonna have to ask you to step back."

...It took some time to realize that the officer was speaking to him. He blinked rapidly, taken aback as he pulled his hands from his pockets and held them in front of himself defensively. "...Umm...I'm actually her-"

"Sir, I am not going to ask you again! Step back right now!"

"I-I'm not-!"

A hand was pressed to his shoulder, the officer's opposite hand reaching behind his belt. "Sir, if you do not step away, I'm afraid I am going to have to use force."

Naoto, gracefully, stepped in...palm raised while opposite hand clamped to Souji's shoulder with an unusual tightness. "Officer...this man is with me."

"...Excuse me?"

"...This is Mr. Seta. He...is my bodyguard...as well as my personal assistant."

The officer blinked. His face paled...a sudden icy shakiness snaking its way through his arm. He withdrew his hand from Souji's shoulder as if he'd punched a hot griddle, quickly slipping his arms to his sides and standing at attention. His eyes remained widened...quaking with a profound sort of trepidation. "V-...very sorry, sir! I was unaware! I'll be sure to remember you in the future, sir!"

The officer's head swiveled...quickly seeking out another uniformed individual who didn't seem to have his hands too busy, quickly advancing in his direction and away from his faux-pas. "You there! What are you doing? Detective Shirogane and her bodyguard are to be escorted to the crime scene immediately!"

Souji Seta stared after him as he fled...mouth slightly slack with a hint of disbelief in his eyes. "...I-...are...are the local police that intimidated by you?"

Naoto, with a similar expression of disbelief, refuted the accusation. "...I believe he was more intimidated by you than anything else."

"...E-...what? Why?"

"Who are you more afraid of? The well-known detective? Or the person who has been hired for the sole reason of protecting that detective? Simply the word 'bodyguard' can be a very intimidating thing. B-besides...umm...it seems you forgot to remove your driving gloves."

Souji Seta gasped...staring to his hands despite the fact that it was something he didn't even need to visually confirm. "Wh-...what's that matter?"

"...Well...it makes you look as if you're trying not to leave any fingerprints...or trying not to get your hands too dirty...or even protecting your knuckles. Leather gloves...can be a frightening symbol when worn by-"

"Someone like me?"

"...W-well...you are quite tall...and though I quickly learned it to be utterly false, you had quite the 'presence' back in high school. You were always...very quiet and distant. Not sure if you were aware...but rumors fluttered about that you had been some kind of delinquent back in the city."

"...Scary eyes."

"...Pardon?"

"D-...do I have scary eyes? Look."

He leaned forward...almond-shaped eyes widening far more than normal as he pushed his bangs away with the edge of his hand. Naoto blushed...tipping her hat a bit higher as he stoop upon the tips of her toes to make up for her lack of vertical presence. She squinted...urging close enough for their breath to mingle in midair.

"...I...I wouldn't say so."

An officer approached, offering to escort the pair further in...an offer which Naoto quickly latched onto. Souji frowned. 'I wouldn't say so' isn't the same as simply saying 'No'.

...He didn't bother to remove his gloves. If being intimidating was a help Naoto...he may as well help as much as possible. He felt a nagging fear that, soon, his usefulness would run its course...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what I was thinking at the time but I started nearly every single line of dialogue with an ellipse when I wrote this. Ellipses were my 'filler words'. 
> 
> I'm not editing them out because I think you should look at them. Look at them and learn. Behold man's folly.


	6. Giving Her Word

_In which Souji Seta begins learning by doing..._   


The interior of the Vavasseur Estate was even worse than the exterior...an abominable tribute to a covetous lifestyle. He recalled, at some point, reading an article which suggested that the majority of the world's wealth was held by less than 1% of the total population. Strolling through the voluptuous Vavasseur Estate made him believe it. It was considerably smaller than the Shirogane Estate...only three floors. It was much more recognizable as a private home than the place that Naoto had grown up in...but even then, no expense was spared. It was stifling...crowded and overflowing with wasted money to the point of loathsomeness.

There was very little room to breathe, especially when the halls were bustling with complaining employees and exasperated police officers. Vases larger than their pedestals, multiple portraits of the same person...trophies and busts and plaques and useless trinkets upon baubles upon novelties. It was a frightening representation of Souji Seta's first impression of Shintate as a town.

He took special note of the portraits...portraying multiple people, but almost every single one of them had the exact same man at the center...a rotund, middle-aged man with parted, yellow-brown hair. A constant redness seemed to have sunk into the excess flesh of his cheeks, his expression much the same in every representation...a look of insincere joy, thick lips shrinking back to stretch his face with glaringly bright, pearly teeth.

Souji Seta followed close to Naoto...who was herself closely following a young, nervously sweating local officer. Her reputation had preceded herself. In some way, he was happy to know that she didn't seem to suffer from the same underestimations and lack of respect that she'd experienced while in Inaba...at least with the lower brass. Some stared at him in curiosity...others with a facade of respect to hide an intimidated core. He never realized just how frightening a change of clothes and a relationship with a detective could be. She could've called up Kanji and given him the job. He could only imagine the look of abject horror painted on their faces. The thought of it made him want to smirk...

In much the same way, Souji Seta could feel multiple eyes following him...scratches of hurried whispers passing unintelligibly by his ears. He never did like the sensation of being the center of attention. The likable guy who listened more than he talked and sat comfortably in the back...that was what he enjoyed being.

He slipped a thumb into the bottom edge of the glove on his opposite hand...mindlessly stretching either of them to smooth out across wriggling fingers. He remained uncomfortably aware of his appearance...occasionally slumping down as he walked before responsively correcting his posture. He imitated Naoto's stance as best he could. She had a unique walk...never appearing in a hurry, but always moving just a bit faster than you expected her to. He was reasonably certain it would be possible to balance several encyclopedias on her noggin without her having to adjust her bearing at all. Eventually, he gave up...slipping his hands deeply into his pockets to eliminate the temptation of tightening his gloves any further.

Daiki Vavasseur had been found dead in his private study located on the second floor. The study was located in the exact geometric center of the manor...essentially acting as the opulent core to the greedy, gilded behemoth of a home. Naturally, it was reported to be the room in which Daiki Vavasseur spent the majority of his time.

Naoto and Souji were expeditiously guided to the location of the study from which the energetic activity that swarmed the manor seemed to bubble forth from. Several officers loitered about the entrance speaking in forced official tones...one or two people in plain clothes, who Souji assumed to be reporters or something similar, chirping out for attention while the police struggled to keep their lust for information satisfied. The walls surrounding the study seemed particularly eye-catching...lined in surplus with glass-framed displays of various trophies and awards which Souji Seta didn't bother taking the time to identify.

The door to the study opened slowly, an older man emerging with a strained expression...one which quickly converted to a buttery, boot-licking smile as soon as his eyes caught sight of an approaching well-dressed detective. "...Ahhhh, Shirogane! The Detective Prince finally makes his presence known, does he?"

Souji Seta, despite his better judgments to ignore bad first impressions, took an immediate disliking to the man. Soapy and smarmy, he had the exact kind of aura as a mincing used car salesman. He seemed like the type of person who'd insult you with a smile on his face before attempting to laugh it off as if you were his best friend in life. He took notice of his use of the word 'he' in reference to Naoto. It was odd to hear. Even in Shintate, the town which Naoto had been closest to in her youth...it seemed that the majority of people thought of her as a man. The secrecy with which the Shirogane Estate functioned was something to be feared.

He was an older person, but he wasn't so old as to be difficult for him to relate to. Early thirties, perhaps. His eyes had an unsettling narrow quality. He seemed to be constantly squinting as if everything he looked towards greeted him with an irritatingly bright glare. Round, smooth cheeks were incredibly clean-shaven...to the point of having an eye-catching, glossy quality. Ink-black hair glistened with a nasty, wet-looking grease. Whatever hair product he poured onto his scalp had hardened by now, forming an unmoving shell of hair. His hairline wasn't receding, but his forehead was quite large...almost proudly displaying a very prominent widow's peak pointing directly at flat nose. He was dressed well...straight-legged pinstripe trousers with a pale yellow dress shirt, no tie. He made his way over to the pair with a confident swagger...thin lips spread wide to expose large teeth. The scent of artificial mint wafting from his mouth betrayed his hurry in getting here; it smelled like he just downed the mouthwash and ran. Souji Seta couldn't tell if he was the type to think of 'more' as always 'good', or if he'd simply been in a rush and cleaned himself up with great haste. His cleanliness would've been more subtle (as well as tolerable) if he'd gone through a two-minute car wash.

Naoto seemed remarkably tolerant of the casual greeting, giving only a mild nod and speaking as straight-forwardly as always. "I arrived as soon as I could. I apologize for any delays. This would be the location of the crime scene?"

The slick-haired man chuckled openly, giving his head a vigorous nod. "Your expert deductions would be correct...though, you know...there's no real need for you to bother. We've got everything under control on our own, you know. Haha...really, might just be a waste of time. I doubt you could tell us anything we don't already know."

"...Even so...I don't think I'll be comfortable unless I were to take a look at the scene of the crime per-"

"Welllll..." The man interrupted. "...who's this strapping young man, hm? Wasn't aware that we had any more outside help on their way!"

Naoto choked on her words, biting her lip. She replied quickly and bluntly. "This is Mr. Seta, my personal assistant and bodyguard. He will be-"

"Welllll...bodyguard, huh? Glad to see you're finally taking an interest in self-preservation. That attack a few days ago must've been quite an eye-opener, huh?"

Again, he interrupted Naoto...seeming to leave her in the cold as he took an extra step towards the tall, silver-haired man to her side and thrust out a faux-friendly hand to offer a firm shake. "Ijiru Takuji...DETECTIVE Ijiru Takuji. I pretty much run everything you can think of here in Shintate. Glad to see that someone will be making sure the little detective here will be keeping his shoes clean. After that little incident the other day I imagine he's been looking over his shoulder almost constantly, huh?"

Souji could feel Naoto's discomfort...it was so thick that it was tangible. He allowed Takuji's twitching fingers to linger alone for several seconds before finally caving in and removing a single gloved hand from his pocket to accept the handshake. He squeezed. Hard.

Takuji gave a mint-scented chuckle before he pulled his hands away, feigning a yelp and jokingly waving his fingers about. "Wellllll now! Quite a grip, huh? That's exactly what I'd expect from someone hired by ol' Mr. Shirogane's money."

Naoto stomached the situation as best she could before pursuing the subject. "Yes...the crime scene, Detective Takuji?"

"...Hmm? Ohhh, right right...you can't go in yet."

"...Excuse me?"

"Welllll, I guess you COULD go in...but see, I still got my boys running amok in there. Wouldn't want to cause too much confusion, right? A high-profile investigator such as yourself needs his space, huh? I'll just...let you know when it's appropriate enough for you to enter and give us your opinion on things."

Naoto stared before finally nodding. "...Very well. In the meantime, I'd greatly appreciate being briefed on other subjects. How many of the people who were on the premises at the time of murder have solid alibis?"

"Eh? Well, pretty much everyone has an alibi. Can't say for sure if they're solid. All we got is a few people who admit to entering the study around the possible time of death, but it's nothing that we can really confirm right now."

"I see. If possible, I'd like ques-"

"Loooook, I'd love to discuss this in greater detail, but I got a feeling that my boys need me back in there. I'll just...let you know when it'd be a good idea for you to head on in and do your thing."

"But-"

"Now now, don't you worry your head off...we can function pretty well without someone like you looking over our shoulders."

"...! Detective Takuji, I strongly think th-"

"You can do all the thinking you like once we're done. Just wait here...gab it up with your assistant in the meantime."

If Naoto had attempted to engage the situation any further, Souji was fairly sure she'd continue to be shot down in much the same way. She let it go for the time being...watching with a barely contained lour as Takuji turned and gave a light-minded way and made his way back into the forbidden study.

Naoto's eyes squeezed shut...fragile fingertips drumming in repetitious display against the edge of her elbow. Lightly colored lips twinged, flyspeck of a nose squirming. She didn't budge...glued steadfastly to her position with some kind of saint's patience.

Souji Seta was considerably more jittery...fighting the urge to pace before focusing all of his attention to the detective fuming at his side. He spoke in a flat inflection...almost monotonically. "...If you'd like to shoot that guy, I'll pretend to have not seen anything."

She barely reacted...but the minuscule response she did exhibit was enough to let Souji know it was okay to joke. Her tightly coiled lips gave way to the temptation of an awkward half-smile. "...Don't think too poorly of Detective Takuji. I'm very well aware that he resents me. To be honest, I can't say that I blame him. Shintate doesn't have very many high-profile cases such as this...and when it does, I tend to be quick to latch onto them. It's selfish of me to do so...but the temptation of something like this is quite difficult for me to resist."

"...If he's in this for the attention...isn't he in this for the wrong reason?"

"...Not everyone has the same intentions. I had thought you'd have learned that by now. Some people join the police simply so that they can carry a gun. In the end...very few people pursue any career simply because they want to make a difference for the better. Ultimately...people seek certain vocations because they believe they'll enjoy them. 'Helping people' is simply a pleasant side-effect."

Souji Seta didn't see the purpose of continuing on the subject any further. 'The pursuit of happiness' was an intention that was pure enough for him. He wasn't sure if Naoto's explanation of the matter could be considered pessimistic or not...but it served well-enough as a description of her own intentions.

He waited with her for some time, occasionally checking his watch.

They had arrived around 9:50 PM. Time had ticked away. His watch flashed '10:07 PM' in dark, blocky digits. On a whim, he flicked a certain button on the edge of the plastic watch.

**DISTANCE: 1.5 METERS**

...It made him happy...nostalgic memories of quivering, feminine confessions flushing through his mind. Realizing his blunder, he returned the watch to its mundane time-telling state. This was business, right? Business. He wasn't some lovestruck high school student on a scandalous rendezvous. Even it was a sympathy job, he was here for a reason, wasn't he? His pocket felt considerably more heavy...Souji becoming increasingly aware of the weight of the stungun he'd been given just before their departure. She wasn't Naoto, she was Detective Shirogane. He wasn't Souji-senpai, he was Mr. Seta. This wasn't a mysterious TV world in which he could summon a sword-swinging shadow creature to call lightning or rend enemies in twain. The hovering fact that he wasn't as special now as he was in Inaba five years ago tingled at the base of his spine.

"NAOTO SHIROGANE!"

Adrenaline...the rush of hot, bubbling adrenaline throbbing through the tissues of his brain was a feeling that, at one point, he'd thought lost to him...stolen by the slow progress of time. Instinctively, his hand shot to the detective's shoulder, pushing her to the wide while opposite hand dug into his pocket...gloved fingers dully feeling the pressure of a stungun waiting to be disclosed and put to use.

The 'attacker' paled...hands rising as if to protect herself. Her 'weapon' hung loosely between her fingers...a notepad. "W-...wait wait, no no! I'm a reporter! R-E-P...orter!"

Souji Seta blinked...body slowly loosening as the realization of the situation dawned on him. A hand wrapped gently about his wrist, softly easing away his firm grip. "...I-...it's quite alright, Mr. Seta. There's no need to be so...'protective'."

Souji Seta responsively adjusted himself...arms sticking stiffly to his sides with eyes cast downward. Idiot...he wasn't a professional. What was he getting so serious about? He mentally urged himself to not allow his cheeks to redden. Naoto herself seemed considerably less experienced with the action of suppressing a blush...breathing shakily as she smoothed out the wrinkles that had appeared in the shoulder of her shirt.

He felt foolish...like a big-headed child who'd been given a toy gun and fancied himself of adequate strength and volition to prevent a bank robbery.

The supposed 'reporter' herself seemed to shrug away the entire misunderstanding with ease. As far as women went, she was peculiarly tall...approaching 5'11", in the very least. Her most noticeable visual quality wasn't even an actual part of her...bottle-thick glasses shielding her eyes, held together by thick wire frames. They were so monstrously dense that he couldn't even discern her eye color. They dominated her face, conveying the appearance of a dragonfly or a wide-eyed bush baby. A string of pale freckles mottled her cheeks, oval face framed by sandy brown hair. Her hair descended to the bottom of her neck before curling into very distinctive, unnatural points. Her sense of fashion was blazingly conspicuous in the disgustingly well-dressed town of Shintate...about as frumpy, cheap, and out-of-date as they came. Tight, faded jeans clung to her hips and lips...of a tightness that suggested she'd long since grown out of them but refused to buy a fresher pair. Hefty brown boots thudded along with her ear-catching footsteps, the strings of one left dangerously untied. Pale brown nylon vest strapped snugly about her chest, impenetrably heavy and lined with more pockets than even seemed necessary. She wore a dingy white T-shirt behind that. It had some kind of colorful logo, but Souji, for the life of him, didn't feel brave enough to stare long enough to discern what it was. She looked young...perhaps even around Souji's own age...a 'fresh out of college' type of person.

A pair of well-chewed yellow pencils lay dormant behind slightly larger-than-normal ears...either one of them lined with so many deep dents that it was a wonder the girl's teeth still seemed to be intact. Excitedly, she slipped one of them into her left hand and gave it a surprisingly dexterous twirl...tumbling the writing utensil between the edges of her fingers with a kind of agile skill that he'd have never expected from someone of her type. Souji eventually came to regard her with a dull, slightly uninterested stare. He wasn't quite sure if his job entailed batting nosy journalists away.

Naoto spoke before anyone else, politely raising a hand with an unreadable expression. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'm in no mood fo-"

"Okay okay okay, but listen...okay? Listen, listen..."

Naoto sighed. Souji felt her pain. It was hard to get a word in edgewise in a place like this. The peppy reporter tittle-tattled on at her own delirious pace. "Okay, so...first of all...lemme just say, Detective Shirogane? Big...big big huge massive BIIIIG fan here, okay? Haha...ohwow, this is so exciting. I've followed you for a while, y'know. I mean, not 'literally' follow you, but I've kept up with you, if that makes sense. What you did with that, uh...that that that case with the...the...oh, never mind, I can't recall, but the point stands. Big fan here...though, I kinda expected you to be taller. 'Bout how tall are you, like...5'11"? Anyway, that's neither here nor there. Doesn't look like you're very busy right now. How about sparin' me the time of day, huh? Mutsu Fumie, I just started work for the Shintate Translator...a local paper. Oh, but I'm sure you already knew that, right? You probably know all about everything that happens 'round these parts, don'cha?"

Souji Seta's eyes slowly widened...the dire nature of the situation dawning on him. She was horrible...like a thousand chatty gossip girls rolled into one terrifyingly snoopy package. She wasn't gonna stop...he felt himself being mentally sucked in, like a moth slowly drifted toward the doom of an incredibly talkative bug zapper. It was Lovecraftian...an eldritch abomination of words, words, words, and more words. She didn't even stop to breathe...maybe she'd evolved beyond the need for breathing? She had to be made in a laboratory somewhere...a creation that was too noisy to be contained, a horrible mistake in the foolish attempt to twist about nature and create the perfect journalist. Mankind had gone too far...

Naoto put a precipitous end to the seemingly endless stream of one-sided dialogue in the most effective way she knew how...pressed her hand forward, fingers spread and palm mere inches away from the chatty girl's nose with an exasperated shudder. Apparently, Naoto had been going through the same thought process as Souji himself...breathing a sigh of relief as the wordy torrent briefly ended. "I'M VERY...very sorry...Miss Fumie, but I'm afraid I am not in the appropriate state of mind to conduct an interview for you...'publication'. I myself haven't been properly informed of what has transpired so far, other than the fact that Mr. Vavasseur has been found dead."

Mutsu quirked an eyebrow, tipping her glasses down slightly. She was definitely the kind of person who expressed as much with her face and hands as with her mouth. It was a frightening prospect. "...Really? Big shot Detective Prince like you? Geez, all you hafta to do is listen. Cops are, like...some of the chattiest folks on the planet. They don't know when to shut up. Half of what I got written down was just stuff I overheard the little guys spittin' back 'n forth."

Naoto proceeded with the conversation more out of politeness than out of general interest. "...Such as?"

"Well, like you know how they're reviewing all those surveillance tapes? 'Cause, y'know, old man Vavasseur was real, real paranoid about things. No cameras inside, of course, but the whole perimeter's got practically no blind spots. Anyway, from what I hear, it doesn't look like anyone sneaked in. They're reviewing them over and over though. Lotsa cameras, right? But the way it's turning out...it might actually have been someone who WORKS here. Haha! Isn't that exciting?"

Naoto's face changed...suddenly becoming much more interested in what the freckled girl had to say. She leaned forward slightly, tipping up her hat and nodding briskly. It was a sight to see. "...Yes? Go on?"

"HAHA! Got yer attention, didn't I? Geez, y'know, guys are all alike...always uninterested unless you got things to say that'll benefit 'em. Well, career guys, at least. Some guys ju-"

"Please! Umm...please...go on. Anything else you know concerning the case?"

"...Depends." Mitsuo smirked wryly...allowing her pencil to cease its blurry spinning and chomping down on the nibbled-to-bits eraser. "...Can ya afford to give me a personal interview after this? I mean, every ol' rag's gonna be talkin' about the murder, but if I can get something with the Detective Prince himself then the Translator's gonna have a big edge. How's this sound for a headline? 'Napoleonic Prince of Persnickety Sleuths Spills it All!'"

"...Napoleonic?"

"...Y'know, 'cause you're so shor-"

"That's fine, that's fine! Just...about the case? If you would be so kind?"

"Nuh-uh. Promise...lemme see your fingers too. No crossin' 'em."

Naoto sighed in defeat...briefly glancing towards her bodyguard direction for helpful advice, only to receive a similarly defeated expression. She raised her hands obediently, calmly replying. "Under the risk of shaming the Shirogane name, I promise that I will give you, Mutsu Fumie, a private interview in the near future."

"...Don't ya mean...IMMEDIATE future?"

"NEAR...future."

"Eh, good enough. So, listen up...I hate to repeat myself. Er...well, that's a lie...I mean, I'll repeat myself if ya like...but y'know, time is money, and I hate wastin' money, so...yeah, like I said, listen up."

Mutsu Fumie seemed to lack the ability to properly control the volume of her voice. Souji Seta cringed under the process...taking one or two steps away from the pair in an attempt to preserve his sanity. Mutsu continued...

"Okay, so...right now, I'm under the assumption that the murder is someone who was already in the estate, right? I mean, if security can't find any footage of someone breaking and entering, then that's just gotta be the case. Anyway, considering the time they think old man Vavasseur was killed...and assuming that the killer was already in the estate, that really narrows the possibilities down."

"Hm? How so?"

"Well, according to surveillance footage, the murder could not have taken place before approximately 5:00 PM today. Ol' Vavasseur had left to have an early dinner with some business clients in town. He didn't return to the estate until exactly 4:55 PM. After which, testimony from employees on the first floor insist that he immediately went upstairs and retired to his study. It's common knowledge among the staff that he ALWAYS retires to his study on the second floor at around 5:00 or so."

"Why is that?"

"Huh? Why'd he always go to the study? Haha, no clue. Apparently, he was pretty darn private about it though. After 5:00 PM, very few people are allowed access to the second floor. All cleaning and maintenance of the second floor had to be done before that time. From what I hear, any employee who was caught on the second floor after 5:00 was given a SERIOUS verbal beatdown. Like...the stuff of legends, y'know? Thunder and lightning and Apocalyptic hellfire. Daiki Vavasseur seemed like he was quite the feared taskmaster amongst his staff."

"...I see. If that's true, then there are very few people who could have possibly had the opportunity to kill him."

"Three."

"Three?"

"Yes. Three. That is, 'tres' in Spanish. There are only three people, other than Daiki Vavasseur himself, who were given access to the second floor after 5:00 PM. Of course, that doesn't necessarily mean that it's impossible for someone else to have gone to the second floor and whacked the ol' guy...but the staff here apparently works very tightly together. They're all backing each other up. Most of 'em have some pretty solid alibis for what they were doing at the time. The work schedule around this estate is as strict as it gets."

Naoto nodded. Her eyes no longer glazed over at the flood of dialogue that poured from the frumpy girl's lips. She was entranced...her eyes widened and her lips fighting the urge to smile. Souji admired that...the conviction and joy that she felt during her job. Envy began to well up inside him.

"So..." Naoto began. "Those three...who are they?"

"Two of 'em are family...which is to say, Daiki Vavasseur's sons. Aoki Vavasseuer and Ozu Vavasseur. They both are pretty much allowed to go where ever the heck they want, so it's to be expected."

"...Two sons? Hm...and the third?"

"The third person who was allowed on the second floor? That'd be the head maid."

"Head maid?"

"Yeah...y'know, the main maid? The leader...like, the queen, sorta. If ya were to kill her then the rest of the maids would all die...at least, that's my theory about that. Anyway, yeah, she's allowed on the second floor whenever she wants too. Evidently, she was also personally in charge of delivering Daiki Vavasseur's evening meal...which he took, by the way, at exactly 5:30 PM every single day. According to testimony from some of the other maids, the head maid did just that today...took his meal to his room just like she always had. So, out of the three people who are allowed access to the second floor, at least one of them is confirmed to have come to Daiki Vavasseur's study before his body was found. Whether or not either of his sons skipped to this floor to have a talk with daddy, I'unno..."

"...The body...who was it who discovered Daiki Vavasseur's body?"

"Ahhhh...a follow-up question, eh? Golly, you're a sharp one. It was one of his sons...Ozu Vavasseur discovered the body at about 8:15 PM. So, basically, there's about a three hour gap in which Daiki could've been killed."

"I see...that's quite a gap." Naoto processed the information calmly...face bearing a serene, almost sagely sense of contemplation as she tilted her nose in the direction of the ground and gently crossed her arms. "...So...it's confirmed that the head maid delivered Vavasseur's meal at around 5:30...and then Ozu Vavasseur discovered the body at 8:15. To your knowledge, did anyone else enter the study between 5:30 and 8:15?"

"Ehhh, not that I know of...unless I'm not catchin' the whole story. If anyone did go into the study between those two times, they aren't sayin' anything about it."

"...So until anything else comes up, Ozu Vavasseur and the head maid would be the police's main suspects."

"Hey now, don't put words in my mouth, lil' guy. The police ain't pointing any fingers just yet. I'm sure that guy with the slick hair probably has his own ideas about what happened, but right now they're just going through the motions. Y'know, askin' the usual questions, that kinda thing..."

Souji Seta couldn't bear to look at them. The reporter was basking in the attention of a high-profile scoop and the detective was hanging on every word that slipped from the chatterbox's mouth. He had to look away...eyes fleeing and focusing on the glass-shielded trophy displays. He didn't want to think about his boss becoming chummy with someone like that. Didn't seem like a terrible person, but that level of 'never shuts up' was something that made his skin crawl. _Brevity is the soul of wit. Brevity is the soul of wit._ It was becoming his personal mantra.

"...Miss...Fumie, correct? What can you tell me about the condition of the victim's body?"

"Gawwwwwww! Y'know, I really really really wish I could tell ya, but to be perfectly honest, I don't know. They're keepin' a pretty tight lid on the condition of the crime scene. The only people that even know about the presumed cause of death are those that have been called in to investigate the scene itself. Nobody else knows a clue about what it looks like in there.

"...Excluding Ozu Vavasseur, correct?"

Fumie, miraculously, kept quiet for a moment before the meaning behind Naoto's seemed to click. She gave an exaggerated gasp before snapping her fingers flamboyantly. "...Oh yeah, good point! Yeah yeah, I guess he'd have an inkling about the cause of death. There's a good chance the cops have told 'em to keep his big trap shut though. They're trying to make sure people know as little as possible about what's gone on in there to eliminate confusion."

Naoto nodded. "Yes, that makes sense. It's exactly what I'd expect from them. Let's see...yes, what can you tell me about the location of those three? The head maid and Daiki's two sons? Where are they right now?"

Fumie hummed, idly flicking a fingertip across the tip of her nose as lips coiled into a thoughtful pout. "...No clue. All I know is that none of 'em are allowed to leave the estate right now. They're around...y'know, somewhere. More than likely, they're on either the first or third floor. Only the police are allowed are allowed on the second floor right now."

Naoto blinked slowly, a look of realization etching onto her face as she stared more intently towards the reporter. "...Only police are allowed on the second floor?"

"Yuh-huh!"

"...Then, Miss Fumie, if I may be so bold...why are you here?"

Mutsu Fumie's expression took on something fearful and aghast. "Eh-heh...heh...golly, you're a sharp one."

 _No, you're just a talkative one,_ Souji Seta's thoughts echoed.

Fumie's departure was swift, leaving only with a gun-like pointing gesture with her index finger and an audible click of her tongue. "Guess I should make myself scarce, eh? Don't forget, ya promised. S'gonna be great...long, compelling, detailed!"

She ran energetically off...the thud-thud-thud of ankle-weighing boots sounding in her wake and eventually fading as she darted off toward some stairs. Souji Seta stared after her with vexed, half-lidded eyes. He spoke lowly, bringing a hand to scratch lazily at his temple. "...Do you actually intend to give that woman an interview?"

"A promise is a promise, isn't it? It can't be helped...though, I'd ask that you not judge me too harshly if I struggle to postpone it as long as possible. Now, follow me."

"Huh? Wait...N-...Detective Shirogane!"

She turned and began to walk away from him...a tranquil smile glinting playfully at the corners of small mouth. Souji called uneasily after her. "...Wait...what if you're called into the crime scene?"

Naoto didn't stop. Souji, soon, lost the game of 'chicken' and was slow to follow.

"They aren't going to close the crime scene any time soon. If they should be forced to wait for me, then so be it. For now...I'd like to take the initiative and look around...perhaps ask a few questions to persons of interest. Incidentally, Mr. Seta...did you notice anything unsual about what Miss Fumie has told us?"

'Mr. Seta'...it was odd to hear that coming from Naoto's mouth. 'Mr. Seta'...formal and distant and alien. He didn't like the way she spoke when she was on business. He felt as if he were being treated as if she didn't know him at all. It was a bittersweet sensation, however...the level of confidence and boldness with which she worked seemed to be something to admire. Steadily, he began to doubt whether or not he was even necessary to her. The realization that Yakushiji had been more worried about his well-being, rather than Naoto's, was something that made Souji Seta's stomach drop.

He caught up with her and attempted to match her stride...difficult, considering the superior length of his legs. He adjusted the speed of his stroll accordingly as he kept shoulder-to-shoulder with the diminutive crime-solver. "Why ask me?"

"I want to know what you think about it. Several details have made me very curious..."

"...Like?"

"The head maid supposedly brought Daiki Vavasseur's dinner at 5:30. That's strange..."

Something dawned on Souji. He innerly cursed himself for not having picked up on it. "...He had dinner and a meeting with clients earlier."

"Precisely. That leaves us with several possibilities. He may not have had dinner with clients after all...or the head maid may have never brought him dinner, even though she was reported to have gone into his study at 5:30..."

"...He could just be a glutton, right?"

Naoto sighed, shaking her head. "...That is a possibility...but I'd rather not actively consider it."

"Because?"

"...Because it's a very boring proposition."

Souji Seta concealed a smirk. In the end...she still felt like someone desperate to relive her cherished detective novels.

"...There's also one other thing that bothered me, though you wouldn't have picked up on it."

"What's that?"

"Fumie claimed that Daiki has two sons."

"...Is that odd?"

"Yes. I've been familiar with the Vavasseur family for quite some time. Up until now...I've only been aware of one son."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still deep in updates from way back in 2011. The new stuff won't be coming around until chapter 8 (or chapter 9 if you count the prologue as its own chapter).


	7. Pen Meets Paper

_In which Souji Seta is given license to observe and record..._

Detective Shirogane and Mr. Seta happened upon Ozu Vavasseur sobbing quietly in one of the many disgustingly lavish hallways on the 3rd floor. Despite the softness of the despairing noises he made, Souji found them to be surprisingly shrill...painful to the ears even. Souji Seta never considered himself to be a cold human being...a bit 'removed' from most situations, perhaps, but there was a very thick line between being slightly aloof and entirely unfeeling. He felt almost shamed that, given the situation, he was more preoccupied with the scratchy, high-pitched quality of the man's voice than with the tragedy that had occurred.

In terms of appearance, Ozu Vavasseur looked to be almost identical to what Souji Seta had originally imagined for a son of the late patriarch. Assuming that the grinning man with yellow-brown hair pictured in the estate's many portraits was Daiki Vavasseur, Ozu Vavasseur appeared simply to be his father deflated. He was much thinner than the girthy fellow that had taunted Souji from the gold-dripping walls of the manor, with very long spidery limbs. His shoulders seemed too broad for his body, leaving Souji speculating that he stuffed the top portion of his shirt. Fashion-wise, Daiki and Ozu seemed eerily identical. He dressed as if a flamboyant, golden peacock on parade. His suit was as gaudy and garish as they came...bright, glaring red forming his trousers, vest, and dinner jacket with an eye-squinting sheen of golden silk beneath. He was accessorized to the point of absolute absurdity. More than a few thick, jewel-encrusted rings hugged around spindly, pianist's fingers. It was almost a wonder how the thin man could even left his hands with the weight. Dapper, yet florid and tasteless beyond belief.

He couldn't make out the look of his face, having buried it into a waiting handkerchief as he bawled and blubbered in long, whiny squeals...but his hair made it seem like Daiki Vavasseur had been scalped. Pale yellow-blonde...smooth and parted to one side.

Conspicuously, he'd been left entire alone. In fact, Souji hadn't seen a single police officer on this floor. He supposed he could've made a more refined analysis of the situation...but really, it was just easier to assume that the cop had fled to get away from that angst-ridden, ear-scraping series of wet, sniffling cries. Strange...it didn't bother him too much at first, but it lingered like a bad stink...resting in his ear canals and starting an echo.

Self-loathing...here, a man had lost his only father and Souji could only be bothered to think of words to describe the unique quality of his crying. He did his best not to show it. Then again, it wasn't his job to feel sympathy, was it?

He wasn't Leader...or Partner...or Sensei or Souji-senpai. He was Mr. Seta. He wasn't with Naoto, he was with Detective Shirogane. His job was to be useful to Detective Shirogane whenever he could. That was better, wasn't it? Better than feeling sorry for yourself and staring mournfully into your coffee cup. He steadied his breath and kept his arms lowered, eyes forward. It was harder than it looked. He had to fight the nagging urge to do _something_ with his hands.

No one of either party said anything at first. Ozu wept...Naoto regarded him with a frown-ridden stare. She looked unimpressed...unamused. She regarded the drooling, weeping man as she would a child throwing a tantrum. "Mr. Vavasseur, it's quite alright. You don't have to pretend to cry..."

Mr. Seta gave a sudden, barely audible grunt...false veil of stoicism easily broken as his eyes darted to the detective. She always did have a tin ear for the feelings of others, didn't she? She even admitted it herself. Ozu's torrent of weeping paused abruptly. The detective ignored the reactions of them both and elaborated.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Mr. Vavasseur...but I don't believe I heard any sounds at all from this part of the floor until I was unusually close. I don't believe you began to 'cry' until you heard my footsteps approaching. Make no mistake, I am in no position to judge you in any way...so there's absolutely no need to-"

"Who...do you think you are? Who do you think _I_ am?"

The man's voice took a drastic turn...shifting from sharp, brief shrieks to something a bit more 'gravely'...harsh, gritty, and with the coarseness of sandpaper. His handkerchief fell from his face, twisted and strangled by white-knuckled hands. There was no redness in his eyes. His stare was entirely dry and lucid. Seeing his face, Souji could discern a much larger difference between him and his father. Ozu's face was considerably longer...with a tapered chin, long nose, and very high cheekbones. His eyebrows were extremely thin and long...well-trimmed, apparently, and wrinkling into a hateful, angry expression. It was difficult to discern his age, though he didn't appear to be very old...then again, it was difficult to tell with people like this. What with age-defying surgeries, creams, injections, and whatnot...it was hard to make any definite judgments. He was of an appearance that denied age, in a way.

Ozu Vavasseur took several steps forward...cutting the distance between himself and the detective with reckless speed until his chin threatened to bump into her forehead. He wasn't a short man...standing at a sort of convenient middle ground between Naoto's less-than-impressive stature and Souji's own respectable height. Ozu stared down at the top of the detective's cap with gritted teeth as if to intimidate. His speaking voice wasn't nearly as skin-grating or obnoxious as his fake weeping, but Souji couldn't help but find it obnoxious, in a way. He was the kind of person who over-enunciated frequently...rolling his tongue and punctuating his words with an exotic flourish when unnecessary.

"You listen very closely, Detective. Look around, will you? This is my home...not yours. I live here, not you. You may see this place as just another crime scene to prance around in...or a big box full of people to ask unwanted questions towards...but I don't. I eat here, I sleep here, and I command great authority here. I don't care if you're a Shirogane! I _refute_ you...and I-...eh...I'm sorry, but _who is this_?"

Ozu's attention turned towards the silver-haired man in the black suit. Mr. Seta had stood relatively still...though, as Ozu had moved forward, he'd lifted his hands from his pockets...elbows bent as if to come between the pair should anything physical actually take place. He hesitated only due to the detective own unflinching resolve...and also the fact that he couldn't help but notice that Ozu had misused the word 'refute'. Ironic, considering he accentuated it so forcefully.

Detective Shirogane retained her composure like a true master of her craft...even taking the time to readjust the balance of her cap before she gestured to the tall man standing beside her. "Pardon my rudeness. This is my associate, Mr. Seta. He is my personal assistant. He functions as a jack-of-all-trades, of sorts...transcriber, chauffeur, secretary, bodyguard..."

"Personal assis-...bodyguard?"

The foppish man looking upon Mr. Seta with a new sense of wariness...though, he didn't budge from his position looming over the detective. His eyes squinted...lips tightening as if to expertly appraise the detective's assistant. Mr. Seta just barely caught an elusive twitch of Naoto's eyes...an almost invisible fleeting glance. Was that a signal?

Bodyguard. Right. He was a bodyguard. Mr. Seta's expression hardened...closing his eyes with an eerie sort of calmness as balled one leather-hugged hand into a sizable fist, smothering it with his fingers and squeezing until it gave an audible, menacing 'crack!'.

Ozu yelped...yes, that'd be the word. A sharp, fluttery 'yelp'...as if he'd been jabbed with something that had been reddened in a fire. He jumped away from the detective as if she were dripping with something toxic, instinctively raising his hands as if to repel an attack. Souji found it to be an amusing reaction...almost surreal considering the fact that he had never so much as been in an actual fistfight with another person...unless you counted Yosuke, but that was something between friends. The man with the 9mm Browning may have also counted...but unfortunately, Souji couldn't bring himself to remember any of it. It was a shame...he wondered if he'd looked cool before he accidentally knocked himself out.

Cold, frightened sweat daubed along Ozu's forehead as he realized just how close he came to posing an immediate physical threat to the shorter detective. His voice cracked as he came to his own defense.

"W-w-w-w-w-what do you think you're doing? Threatening me? Do you...do you think you can scare me into confessing to something I didn't do with the use of this...this...overgrown tuxedo monkey?"

_...Tuxedo monkey?_

The detective was quick to quell the man's worries. "Rest assured, Mr. Vavasseur...that was not my intention. Mr. Seta is here only for my protection. Due to recent...'happenings', I have felt it necessary to heighten security around myself. He is not here for the purposes of intimidation. I apologize if you misinterpreted." Said despite the fact that the intimidation factor had been nothing but useful so far.

_Is it the ears? I don't have large ears. Do I? No...no, I don't. Not at all...I don't think._

Ozu Vavasseur, despite having not been weeping, was a nervous ruin of a man. It could be seen now that he was also the type to communicate with his entire body...brandishing his hands to add visual, vaguely effeminate flavor to anything he said. It was oddly hypnotic. He balanced his chin delicately stop shaking fingertips...chewing upon his lower lip as his eyes bounced wildly about between the detective and the man in black.

He spoke on. "V-...very well. If you insist then...yes, I accept your apology. _But_...I still don't appreciate this kind of... _persecution_! I've already informed the police. I refuse to answer any questions at all unless the time is taken to escort me somewhere...'official'. I also demand the right to convene with my lawyers beforehand...which may take several days. I simply don't want my precious time to be wasted. I don't think that's unreasonable. Do you?"

_This isn't even a tuxedo. You need a jacket for it be considered a tuxedo, right? Black tie monkey would make much more sense. Maybe 'black tie gorilla', since he's so caught up on the size thing._

Naoto shook her head briskly. "Not at all...ultimately, you're the only person who can choose what you do or don't answer. Even if I wanted to whisk you away for private questioning, I lack the authority to do so."

_Then again...'tuxedo' is a common misconception for a suit like this, but he may not be focused on my size at all. 'Monkey' might fit. Maybe I do have a big ears..._

Ozu laughed nervously...a rickety giggle as he gleefully writhed his pianist's fingers. He was an expressive one. "R-right, right...then, please be off. I'm afraid I'm not in the mood for anything like this. I would vastly prefer to be alone."

"Of course. Though, if I may say so...I'm quite impressed with your demeanor."

"Hm?"

"You're taking this situation with a surprising level of grace. If _I_ was the top suspect in a murder investigation, I'd be spilling as much information as I possibly could to relieve some of the pressure on me. I'm glad to see that you're confident in your innocence. It's...'refreshing'."

Ozu's writhing fingers became rigid. "...Top suspect?"

Detective Shirogane nodded sedately. "You were aware of this, weren't you? Naturally, considering that you were the one to discover the body, a considerable amount of suspicion was automatically cast upon you. Adding to that, many of the officers have made complaints about your disposition. A good number of them are interpreting your behavior as being uncooperative."

Mr. Seta cocked a brow...pulled from his self-conscious inner monologue just as he was measuring the size of his ears against his fingers. He hesitated to think of Detective Shirogane as a liar. She was making assumptions...some broad implications...but lying? He wasn't certain...nor was he ready to raise an objection.

Ozu stammered...voice rattling halfway between his mouth and his diaphragm. "That...that is _absolutely_ absurd!"

The detective shrugged. "Unfortunately, that's how many investigations go. It can't be helped. The police take very small aspects of a suspect's behavior into account as they deliberate making formal arrests. I, of course, have no direct say in such things...being only a private detective."

Ozu lurched forward as if to grip Naoto by the shoulders before he seemed to become aware of Mr. Seta's existence for a second time. He restrained himself...pulling back, straightening his tie, and whipping his wrists around as if he were an orchestral conductor as he spoke his plea. "W-wait...wait...you have no say, you say? But you can still talk to them, right? I...I'd be willing to answer some questions...well, as long you'd let them all know that I'm on the 'up and up'. They trust you, don't they?"

Mr. Seta took special note of the detective's exceptional look of satisfaction. It was an awkward fidgeting of her lips...a smile that one smiles when they don't want anyone to know that they're smiling. It occurred to him that he'd never really seen her do a proper interrogation of someone. If this manipulative set-up was of any indication...she had a special skill for it...and, perhaps more important than that, she obviously enjoyed doing it. He was in no position to question her methods...in fact, he may have even liked them, as deceptively sneaky as they were.

"...Very well." She agreed. "If you insist...then I would be more than happy to hear your side of the story, Mr. Vavasseur."

Ozu wiped the perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand and flattened his hair...tugging on the edges of his dinner jacket as he anxiously gestured for her to proceed.

Detective Shirogane stopped herself before she began...reaching into her back pocket and revealing a slick, ballpoint pen and a small notepad. She presented them to the tall man standing to her side. "Mr. Seta, if you'd be so kind as to transcribe for us. Feel free to paraphrase, but be sure to cover all of the main points discussed."

Seta blinked slowly...lips parting to say something before he decided against it and took the pen and paper into his hands. He hadn't had to do this before...though, the encounter with Fumie was hardly an 'official' questioning. No mention of anything like this had been made. He was forced to wonder if this had been something the detective herself had worried about before he came along...or if it was something thought of on-the-spot to keep the new employee busy.

It felt awkward holding them...the thick, leather barrier between the pen and his fingers causing him to fumble with it. A pen, not a pencil. He dreaded the notion of making a mistake he couldn't erase. He readied the pen, gently pressing the tip into the clean, white paper as he waited for his employer to begin.

"Mr. Vavasseur, why did you pretend to cry as we approached?"

"Wh-...I'm sorry, but...I was under the impression that you were going to ask me about...well, the _actual crime_ and not..."

"If you would prefer not to answer, I can simply proceed with the next question. Keep in mind, however, that everything we say is being transcribed."

Mr. Seta tried not to grin. It was clever but cruel. Any more lack of cooperation was being especially noted by the man with the pen...even if he was struggling to keep up, scribbling at a frenetic pace before he gave into the temptation of paraphrasing most of what was said.

Ozu flinched and surrendered. "...I was...nervous."

"Nervous? About?"

"Well...as you've pointed out, I was already under suspicion since I happened upon the body, correct? I thought...that maybe not behaving emotionally enough would paint the picture of a...a callous person."

"So, you didn't want people to think that you didn't care about what happened to your father?"

Ozu winced...chewing at the tip of his thumb for a moment before answering. "...It really isn't like I...don't care that he's dead. I do! Really! Honest and for truly! I...at least, I can't say that I didn't care about him! But...really, I didn't think of him the way that most people do their fathers..."

She didn't reply. She waited, gesturing for him to continue.

"...I thought of him as less of a father and more of an...employer, perhaps. He signed my checks, after all. I did my best to remain within his good graces. If I didn't, he'd..."

"Cut you off?" The detective finished his sentence.

"It wouldn't be something beyond him."

"So, to clarify...you relied on your father financially to the point where he had ceased to feel like a father?"

Ozu hesitated...mouth open and finger pointed expressively to towards the ceiling before he closed it again. He repeated the motion...gulping at the air like a voiceless fish before he found the resolve to answer. "...I don't know...maybe. It doesn't sound very appealing when you put it in those words..."

The detective didn't take the time to process the man's feelings. She plowed forward...pressuring him, pursuing with a kind of single-mindedness shared by a shark that had caught the scent of blood in the water. Mr. Seta had never seen her actively question someone before. She was...frighteningly efficient. She spoke with fewer words than she normally would. Her sentences were shorter, faster...more direct and more difficult to honestly respond to. She didn't give Ozu much time to think.

"What can you tell me about the discovery of the body?"

Ozu's fingers curled in a claw-like manner, his fingernails bending in the direction of his palm. He began to scratch loosely at the throat of his golden, silk shirt. He took the question as if it were the least comfortable yet. "...I knocked on the door of father's study. There was no response, so I let myself in. That's...when I saw him dead."

"Time?"

"Time?"

"The time that you found the body?"

"...W-well, I don't remember _exactly_! Shouldn't the police have told you the time that the body was discovered?"

"I'm not talking to the police...I'm talking to you. This question is directed at you, not anyone else. At what time did you discover the body of Daiki Vavasseur?"

"...I don't...I don't remember exactly. It was just a few hours ago! What difference does it make?"

She didn't respond. She let him sweat before he finally gave the best reply he could.

"It...it was eight and something! Some time after 8:00 PM, I suppose!"

"Why did you go into your father's study?"

"To speak with him."

"About?"

Ozu gripped his shirt tightly...twisting and wrinkling the expensive material. "It's personal."

"So, you're deciding not to answer?"

"Absolutely not! I am answering! Hear me? My answer is that I was talking to my father about personal matters that don't concern you!"

"You won't elaborate on them?"

"...N-...no. No, I won't."

"Very well. I'll move on. Did you meet with Daiki Vavasseur at any time today? Before you discovered the body, of course."

Ozu's mannerisms were confused...flustered. His mind still seemed to be stuck on the question that had come before...deliberating if it would be better to answer it directly or abstain. Detective Shirogane didn't allow him the time to backtrack. "Y-...yes, I did. He was having dinner with clients. I joined them briefly."

"Briefly? Could you explain?"

"Briefly...I met with them briefly! What else do you w-...gahhh...I met with them for a short time, but I didn't have much. A glass of water and some bread...that's it."

"Your father...did he eat?"

"Yes."

"A lot?"

"I left around the time his food arrived. He'd ordered a lot, yes. He liked to eat. What about it?"

"What was it that he ordered? Do you recall?"

Ozu relaxed a bit. He seemed to find it much easier to answer when the focus of the conversation wasn't on himself. He smoothed out the fabric of his shirt as he gave his reply. "The restaurant was DiFabio's...it was his favorite. An authentic Italian establishment in the Shintate shopping district. He had a lot of bread...some wine. He ordered baked escargot as an appetizer. It was meant to feed the whole table, but he ate it all himself. I left around the time his actual entrée arrived. A full order of gnocchi with walnut pesto. He was also talking about ordering dessert afterwards. I can't say for sure if he did...but he always orders dessert. I've never seen him _not_ order dessert...so I assumed he had something sweet to finish the meal off. He was a glutton. Poor man...it was beginning to catch up to him too. His doctor h-"

Detective Shirogane cleared her throat abruptly. Ozu frowned, pulled away from his tangent...dropping the subject. She'd heard what she wanted. Daiki Vavasseur had eaten quite a bit before the head maid supposedly brought him dinner.

"Where did you go after you left the restaurant?"

"Straight home and nowhere else."

"What time did you arrive here?"

"Hmph...4:40 PM, on the dot."

The detective verbally lunged at that. Her expression didn't change, but her words spoke her skepticism. Professional. "You remember the exact time you returned but not the exact time you discovered the body, correct?"

If Ozu were a cat his entire pelt would've stood on end. He bristled and bit at his tongue...but a glance towards the tall man busily scratching at the notepad kept him quivering in place. "...I was under stress, _detective_...you can't blame me for not remembering every last teeny, tiny, fleeting, floaty tiny detail, can you?"

Mr. Seta noted to himself that he'd used 'tiny' more than once in the same string of adjectives. He almost wrote it down...but paraphrasing it all into 'every tiny detail' saved him some time.

Detective Shirogane readjusted her footing. "I can understand that, yes. What time did your father return?"

"Tch...it was f-...it was about 5:00, I guess."

"Did he immediately retire to his study on the 2nd floor?"

"Yes...yes, he did."

"Mr. Vavasseur, is it true that, other than Daiki Vavasseur, only three people were allowed on the 2nd floor after 5:00 PM?"

Ozu's eye twitched. He almost seemed reluctant to answer...perhaps even considering skipping the inquiry over before he spoke. "...That's correct, detective, yes."

"For clarification, can you identify those three individuals, Mr. Vavasseur?"

"...Ozu Vavasseur...Aoki Vavasseur...and Yoshioka Yori..."

"Yoshioka Yori being the head maid?"

"Yes."

"And Aoki Vavasseur being your brother?"

"...Yes."

Detective Shirogane took a short pause...seeming to collect her thoughts and lowering her eyes. "...Mr. Vavasseur...I've had reasonably close ties for quite some time now. I find it very strange that, until this evening...I've never heard of an 'Aoki Vavasseur'..."

It wasn't difficult to tell that Ozu was bracing himself...trying his hardest to keep himself stern and unreadable. He wasn't very good at it. He grimaced and perspired beneath the pressure. "...Aoki's demeanor and interests were fairly conflicted with that of my father's. He isn't a dirty little secret or anything that dramatic...but he himself prefers to not be very high-profile. It isn't strange. He's no secret, but he's rarely brought up. He prefers it that way, so it's fine..."

"Demeanor and interests?"

Ozu turned his eyes away, thoughtfully dragging the tip of his finger across his lips. "He's...uh...well, he's always been very sickly. He doesn't get out much, I should say. Because of...various conditions, he never took to the kind of lifestyle expected for a Vavasseur. Both my father and I shared the same hobbies...fashion, fine food, golf. Aoki prefers...different things."

"Such as?"

"...Well, he reads a lot."

"Is that strange?"

"I-it's not important. He's interested in some very unique subjects that don't call for further discussion. I-I don't really get it myself..."

The detective nodded slowly. "So, allow me to clarify. I have not heard of Aoki Vavasseur because he prefers to remain low-profile, correct? His health problems and personal interests necessitate this?"

"...Yes...sure, that sounds about right."

The detective exhibited her discomfort with the non-talkative answers she received with a barely noticeable tensing of her shoulders. "...Daiki Vavasseur returned to his study around 5:00. You discovered his body, you claim, some time after 8:00. Correct?"

"...Hm...yes, correct."

"Considering that only three people other than your father would normally be found on the 2nd floor after 5:00...would you agree that it seems very likely the culprit is one of those three?"

Ozu scowled...showing his teeth and slapping his palms to his hips in a show of restrained aggression. "Listen here! Who isn't to say that whoever did it didn't come from outside!"

"Thus far, no footage of any intruders has been discovered in the estate's security footage. While I will not rule out the possibility that the culprit came from outside...it seems extremely unlikely, does it not?"

Ozu didn't respond...quietly backing down. The detective did not follow up on her question or demand a direct answer, simply allowing her inquiry to disappear into the air.

"Yoshioka Yori, the head maid...is it true that she delivered dinner to your father's study every day at 5:30 PM?"

"...Yes."

"She did this today as well?"

"Yes."

"Even after the apparently ample meal that your father had only minutes before?"

"Sh-...she just delivered it. Who's to say if he ate it or not?"

The detective's eyes narrowed...head tilted slightly to the side. A lapse in stoicism...a showing of genuine curiosity. "...Why would your father still have food delivered to his study even after having eaten? If he arrived at 5:00, he would've had plenty of time to inform the staff that he wasn't hungry."

Ozu's body tightened. No eye-catching twists of his hands or snobbish upturns of the nose. He withdrew himself...voice lowering and shifting to something almost monotone. "...I can't answer that."

"Why?"

"I'm not my father...so I don't know."

"...Yoshioka Yori then...is it safe to say that it's a fact that she had ample opportunity to kill your father?"

"Yes...yes, absolutely." His voice rose...the dandified heir worked into a more excited fervor, balling his fists as he agreed as energetically as he could manage. "She could've done it, yes yes...I wouldn't put it past her. Not at all, not at all. She's always had this...this this...this twisted sort of relationship with my father. I don't know why he even kept the vulture on staff! She...yes, _she_ should be top suspect, not me! You can go tell that to the police..."

"I see...then, your brother, Aoki Vavasseur...at any time, did he enter your father's study after-"

"He didn't do it."

"I didn't finish my question, Mr. Vavasseur."

Ozu shook his head soundly. "I know where your so sneakily steering this conversation, and I shall tell you right now that it's impossible. Aoki Vavasseur did not kill our father."

"I see. You're cert-"

"Hemaphobia."

The detective rose her head...exposing her eyes to the man in front of her. "Excuse me?"

"Hemaphobic...Aoki, he's hemaphobic. He's scared of blood...faints at the sight of it. If you'd seen the crime scene, you'd know..." Ozu's face grew pale...suddenly moving his hands to hug pitifully at his sides. A look of sickness overtook him...hunching over just slightly as if his stomach pained him. "If you'd scene the crime scene...you'd know that there's absolutely no way for Aoki to have done something like that without fainting..."

 


	8. Professional Relations

_In which Souji Seta is further educated..._

Souji Seta, even while busied with frantically scribbling, was quick to notice the most ephemeral of glances fired from Naoto's direction. If he had blinked at the wrong moment, he would've missed it entirely. He wasn't sure exactly how to interpret it...whether it was a glance meant to simply gage her freshly hired employee's reaction...or perhaps even to signal him into some sort of action, he was clueless. He decided it best not to glance in return...lightly clearing his throat as if to voice his acknowledgement of the gesture before continuing to scrawl sloppily across the notepad he'd been given. He wasn't proud of his handwriting. The invention of an affordable, portable personal computer had all been eliminated any pleasing aesthetic that his penmanship could've possibly possessed.

Naoto, in the very least, possessed the common decency to allow Ozu to gather himself...waiting patiently for a moment in which she'd feel comfortable in persisting her ravenous hunt for information. She stood stock-still...thin arms loosely crossed, looking politely away from Ozu until he steadied himself with a deep, warbling breath.

She continued. "Hemophobia...this is a clinical condition for your brother? Not self-diagnosed."

Ozu shook his head firmly. "It's for real. He's had it ever since he was a young thing. He sees a psychiatrist at least once a week for that and...a host of other issues."

"Other issues?"

Ozu took the time to smooth out his unsoiled silk handkerchief...holding it gently with the tips of his fingers. He flapped it around as if to dispel any suspicions. "He's a neurotic one...always has been. A great big bundle of phobias and...and 'conditions' and whatnot. Being afraid of blood is just the biggest of his many vices."

Souji Seta considered scribbling 'misuse of the word 'vice'' to the side with an asterisk...but given Naoto's keen sense of professionalism, he decided against it.

"I see. So, you are confirming that a trained professional can provide testimony proving that your brother has this phobia?"

Ozu sighed. "That's, more or less, what I just said...isn't it?"

Naoto took a short pause...her fingers drumming gently against the sleeve of her shirt before she continued. "...What can you tell me about the condition of the body when you discovered it?"

"...The police told me to reveal as little about that as possible, so...I imagine that you wouldn't mind if-"

"It would help me...a great deal."

Ozu winced...but gathering his stomach, managed to reply without much hesitation. "The cause of death, I guess...was probabl-"

"Excuse me. I didn't ask for what you think the cause of death is. I asked simply for what the body looked like when you found it."

"...Isn't that roughly the same thing?"

"No."

Souji's pen came to a halt. He wasn't quite sure if Naoto was being unnecessarily picky or if there was a definite logic beyond her statement. He chose not to worry about it. That wasn't his job.

Ozu grimaced...pondering for a spell, seeming to debate on the best way to convey what he saw in the way that the detective had specifically asked for. "...He was...laying on the ground...flat, on his back. His face was...well...it was...gone."

Naoto quirked an eyebrow...an almost invisible gesture beneath the stiff brim of her cap. "Gone...Mr. Vavasseur?"

Ozu shivered from head to toe...a cold, writhing shiver snaking up the curve of his spine before she spat it out. "Gone, it was gone! It was just...compacted back into his skull...like he'd been...or...like he'd been str-"

"Condition of the body. No theories about the cause, Mr. Vavasseur."

"...Tch...his face was caved in, okay? There was blood...everywhere, all over the front of his clothes."

"I see. The actual crime scene then? What was the condition of it?"

"...Don't remember..."

"You don't remember?"

"That's what I just said, isn't it? Stating what I say in the form of a question doesn't count as a question!" Ozu snapped sharply...teeth bared as he leaned forward on the tips of his toes, though he dared not cross the invisible mental line he had drawn. He elaborated. "...I was panicked, as would be expected from someone strolling in to find their father dead. I left the room immediately and phoned the police."

"The time was...?"

"... _Sometime_...after 8:00. We've been over this, detective..." Ozu Vavasseur gripped the ends of his handkerchief between his hands...stretching the material until it creaked before dragging it across the tip of his chin. He tugged it to and fro, a pale sound of friction accompanying each of the silken scrap's scrapes along his bare flesh.

...Souji Seta, for whatever reason, made a habit of not trusting anyone who made their love of silk _that_ obvious. He had no logical backing behind it...no sound train of reasoning...but it was a simple piece of prejudice that hadn't failed him yet. Kanji Tatsumi, of course, was also fond of silk...but at least he didn't advertise with such unabashed pageantry. In a moment of weakness, Souji Seta's fingers failed him...pen poised without motion as his abhorrent imagination imagined exactly what kind of environment must've produced a man like this. He envisioned a room of silk...of silk curtains and silk carpeting and silk sheets that, if given voice, could tell a thousand tiles of perverse silk fetishism.

It was horrific.

He forbade his mind from continuing...lest his pen choose to move without permission and scrawl these terrible fantasies in absurd detail.

Ozu Vavasseur had quickly begun to regain his footing...his sense of aristocratic outrage. He turned his back curtly to the pair that had been questioning him...taking several high steps and beginning a distracted stroll about the hallway while holding his handkerchief to his face...not seeming to be satisfied until the piece of golden silk was pressed with a permanent imprint of his features. "Anything eeeelse, detective? Or may I be left with my thoughts?"

The detective stared, unamused. She'd lost him...perhaps pressed her influence a bit too much. She supposed there was only so much that a half-lie about the police's suspicions and a popping of the knuckles from a black-clad personal assistant could do to break down a man's personal defenses. She assured herself it was simply a sense of unwarranted accomplishment on Ozu's part. Perhaps he simply thought that he'd answered enough to satisfy the suspicions of anyone with a gun and a badge.

Naoto took a sonorous breath...chest puffing drastically outward before she released. Her focus had seemed to wavered. Her posture relaxed...though, compared to most, she still seemed to possess a stance that was far more straight and powerful than most. She rested a hand on one hip, her opposite hand scratching sensitively at her throat. "...Well...if your patience has yet to run thin, I'd like straighten out what I know so far. Daiki Vavasseur ate out at a local restaurant with business clients. You were there to witness this. You arrived back here at the manor at _exactly_ 4:40 PM. Your father arrived approximately twenty minutes later, around 5:00 PM. Upon arrival, Daiki Vavasseur immediately retired to his study. At 5:30 PM...Yoshioka Yori, the head maid, personally delivered your father's evening meal...despite the fact that Daiki Vavasseur apparently helped to himself to quite the substantial meal beforehand. Sometime after 8:00 PM, you discovered the body of Daiki Vavasseur laying face-up, covered in blood. You immediately left the room and alerted local authorities."

Ozu shrugged nonchalantly. "Mm-hmm, you're on the right track."

Naoto continued. "In addition to this...only three people in the estate, other than Daiki Vavasseur himself, were permitted to be on the second floor after 5:00 PM...5:00 being the time that Daiki typically retired to his study every single day. These people would be you...your brother, Aoki Vavasseur...and the head maid, Yoshioka Yori."

Ozu smirked smugly. "Just because they weren't allowed doesn't mean that other people in the estate couldn't go onto the second floor. Killing someone is also against the 'rules', but it happens, doesn't it?"

Naoto glowered...nothing intense, but it was noticeable. A slow, smoldering heat flickered in the back of her eyes. "...I can't deny that...but, at the same time, there are only two people who we can supposedly confirm to have entered Daiki's study after 5:00 PM."

"...Ff...Yori and myself?"

"Correct."

"..."

"...Mr. Vavasseur...can you account for everything you did between the time you arrived at the estate and the time you discovered the body?"

"Hmph. 4:40, I arrived. I then conversed with several of the employees on my way to my room on the second floor. Eh, it was some...assistant chef and one of the young men tends to the landscape garden. We talked for...ohhhhh...ten minutes or so before I simply strolled on up to my room. I stayed there, alone, until...around 8:00, when I went down to my father's study and discovered what had happened."

"...Personal things, correct? You still refuse to elaborate on what you went to talk to him about?"

"...A son is allowed to meet with his own father, is he not? I don't need a reason."

"Hmm...can you account for the locations of either Yoshioka Yori or Aoki Vavasseur? Excluding the time that Yori visited Daiki, of course."

"Hm...nope."

"...Could you tell me where either of them are now?"

"Nope."

"...No clue? No notion or logical guess where either of them may be?"

"Well...Yori could be anywhere. Aoki is probably in his room."

"Aoki's room is...?"

"Like I said, he couldn't have done it. So, what's the point of you knowing?"

"I'd be more comfortable if I could question him myself."

"No one's stopping you."

"Then the location of his room, if you will?"

"Hm...can't recall. It slips my mind. But, as I said, it's impossible for him to have done it...so there really is no reason for you to find him."

Naoto...snarled. Yes, that'd be the way to describe it...an under-the-radar rumble in the back of her throat accompanied with a distinctive upturn of her upper lip. It was something that was rare to see from someone who Souji had always thought of as cool and collected. Her shoulders shuddered as she spoke. "...Are you _that_ protective of your brother?"

Ozu scoffed...beginning to mindlessly twist his handkerchief into a stretchy spiral. "I simply don't want you to end up wasting your time. He barely talks as it is. Even if he was capable of something like this, you'll get nothing out of him. Besides all that, I suppose I should mention that he weighs...oh...100? 105 pounds? Most of the female workers here outweigh him. My father was three times his size. Not to mention...chronic asthma and an overall weak, disease-prone disposition. He didn't get the best of the gene pool. He has neither the physical strength nor the sheer force of will. It's simply not in his nature."

"...I see. Then...in the very least, what can you tell me about Yori? Is there any way I'd be able to easily identify her?"

"Feh...sure, easy. Just follow the _stench_ of cigarette smoke. She'll be the cosmetic-covered _creature_ at the end of it with her skirt around her ankles." His words dripped with a hateful venom...cruel emphasis placed on the most insulting, disgust-inspiring words of his sentence.

"Very well."

Naoto presented her palm to the tall man standing aside her. He stared at her, dumbfounded, for several seconds before he realized what she wanted. Hectically, he took the time to flip through the thin pages. Not having an eraser, he nervously attempted to blot away any errors he may have made in big, blotches of wet ink before he finally gave up on his last-minute editing and handed both pen and pad to her.

She took the pad...refusing the pen. Souji hooked it into his vest pocket. She didn't look at the pad...simply taking it into her hand before turning away. "Thank you...very much, Mr. Vavasseur. You've been very informative. If you'll excuse us..."

Souji followed without hesitation...though, he was sorely tempted to crack his knuckles just one more time.

The detective and her assistant were on the stairs to the second floor before anything else was said. Souji figured that it would be best not to start any conversation unless there was no one in immediate earshot. Even then, he wasn't sure if even semi-casual words exchanged between him and his boss were appropriate when on an investigation...even when alone. He spoke lowly...not bothering to look directly at her as he descended the velvet-coated staircase.

"...Sorry about all that. Didn't sound like you got too much useful information..."

Naoto discontinued her stride, pausing on the stairs with her hand still clinging to the support railing. Souji grunted to himself, resisting the impulse to give himself a good, sound swat on the forehead. That was definitely inappropriate then, right? Never kick an investigator when they're done. He glanced over to mumble out a half-thought apology before he caught sight of her expression.

Naoto smiled...a big, wide, childishly happy smile. It was awkward to see. He'd become so accustomed to the subtle, ghost-like movements of her lips that to see them stretched that widely almost looked like it would be painful. She tipped up the edge of her hat to expose her forehead before turning...glancing in both directions to ensure that no one was coming before she leaned comfortably against the wall. "Really? You don't think I got any useful information?"

Souji Seta blinked rapidly...eyes twitching slightly before he cleared the gravel from his throat, a gloved hand groping at the back of his neck. "You didn't, did you? I mean...in the long run, didn't we just confirm a bunch of things that we already knew?"

Naoto's chest swelled...a slight rosiness throbbing into her cheeks. Happiness...he couldn't exactly place the origins of it, but what she exhibited was nothing short of unabashed joy. Whether it was the thrill of investigation...or simply to have someone to talk to about it...he wasn't at liberty to say. She loved her job...

She held up the notepad aloft, gripping the bottom edge firmly. "There's more to interrogation than simply what we are told. You must also take into account the context in which you are told these things. Body language, tone of voice...the way a person says something can often tell you more about them then what they are saying. There are many things I took from our conversation with Mr. Vavasseur that he may not have intended us to. I received answers to questions that I didn't even have to take the time to ask..."

"...Right..." Souji's reply was devoid of enthusiasm...the same tone of voice chiefly reserved for one-sided conversations with equally uninterested, but significantly more knowledgeable guest lecturers.

Naoto's smile thinned and slithered into a kind of cocky smirk...fanning her fingers towards her assistant with a modest embellishment. "Very well, Mr. Seta...based on our conversation with Mr. Vavasseur, please describe your impression of Daiki, Ozu, and Aoki as a family."

He blinked rapidly...unconsciously tapping the tip of an index finger against his temple. He didn't like this. This wasn't in his job description. He was here to follow a detective around, take notes, and make sure that no one tried to shoot her. "Well...is it necessary to ask me? You're the detective, aren't you?"

Naoto sighed...a deep, heavy-hearted kind of sigh. Suddenly, Souji was back in primary school...a 6'2" elementary student being lectured by a 5-foot-nada taskmaster of a homeroom teacher. His homework had been dissected and tossed upon his desk while Mrs. Shirogane impatiently tapped her ruler against her wrist and waited for him to explain why he'd gotten so many questions wrong. "Mr. Seta...just think. As I have said before, you're more intelligent then you give yourself credit for."

"Bu-"

"It's important."

He made a painful expression...lips tightening as he bowed his head apologetically. As he spoke, he made a temporary habit of stating his thoughts in questions rather than confident statements. He walked on eggshells...knees shaking as if the slightest lapse in logical thinking merited a harsh lashing.

"...Ozu said that he thought of Daiki as more of a businessman than a father, right?"

Naoto didn't reply. Souji continued, blushing slightly. Show-and-tell all over again...

"I guess that's a side effect of relying so heavily on someone for financial reasons, huh? You start to think of them more as a walking pocketbook than a living relative."

Again, no verbal reply from the big boss in charge. Souji's patience was wearing thin. He decided to ramble...speaking whatever came to his mind.

Souji tilted his head to his side...averting his eyes to the ceiling as fingers grabbed big, wrinkle-inducing handfuls of his upper sleeve. "...A relationship like that...doesn't seem like it would function like a normal family. The relationship between a boss and an employee is drastically different from one between a father and son. An employee's only real incentive is money. They'll just do whatever they think will get them more money. Sucking up...agreeing without thinking...being a yes-man, right? Even in a situation where a father does normally hire his son...it rarely ever turns into something like that unless the father expresses his approval in nothing _but_ money. Conditional love expressed only through monetary compensation...it doesn't sound like a healthy system."

Naoto smiled. "Keep going."

"...That would explain Ozu's behavior. Pretending to feel worse than he was...at first, I figured he was just the kind of person who leeches on the sympathy of others. Then the clothes...he really did look like just a clone of his father. I suppose Daiki was the kind of person who really favored people who took after him."

Naoto smiled wider...chuckled even. "...Exactly what I was thinking. The way Ozu behaved...I get the feeling that his father's 'love' was something entirely reliant on Ozu's behavior. In the end, it was more of a love of money than a love of family. Very well, Mr. Seta...what of Aoki?"

"...Aoki?"

"...Keep in mind how Aoki has been described to us. Prone to illness...severely reclusive...with an interest in hobbies that his father didn't share..."

Souji finished the thought. "...You think Daiki wasn't very fond of Aoki?"

Naoto cleared her throat insistently...smile fading slightly as she gave a gentle tick-tock of a head shake. "I'd rather not say that outright...but considering the impression that I received from Ozu, it seems highly probable. If it's true that Aoki was the black sheep of the family, I'd imagine that the tension laying over the Vavasseur estate must've been quite thick. Keep in mind, I'm not entirely unfamiliar with the late Daiki myself. I don't think that kind of behavior would be beyond him."

"So...how is all this important?"

"...Very few things in the course of an investigation are 'exact'. For the most part...it's less a process of confirming information as much as it is simply adjusting the probability of something being true. In this case...I'm more suspicious of Ozu than I was before. He may very well have hinted at possible motivations for committing the murder."

"Financially speaking...he wouldn't get much from killing his father, would he? He seems to already be in the good life. I wouldn't think that he'd be so impatient as to go through all this trouble simply for a quick inheritance."

Naoto smirked. "Before I had conversed with Ozu, I was under the impression that his only motivation for patricide would be the appeal of an inheritance, yes...which wouldn't have made very much sense, considering his already lavish lifestyle. But with the possibility of tension amongst the family, many more possibilities have been opened up. Not to mention...I'm also very intrigued by his unwillingness to answer certain seemingly harmless questions."

Souji leaned forward...hands relaxing at his sides. Quite a bit of his reluctance and uncertainty seemed to be replaced with a genuine curiosity...a specific thrill that had become strange and foreign to him, but tingled energetically regardless. "The exact time that he discovered the body...and pretty much anything that'd lead us to a questioning of his brother."

"Hm...precisely. He seemed to be quite sure of himself when it came to the exact time of everything else that had happened prior to the discovery of the body."

"Well...he _did_ say that he was in a panic, right?"

"That is true...but even so, he became unusually nervous when that subject came up. If he had used a cellphone to alert the authorities, it would've recorded the exact time that the call was made. Most any cellphone has a feature like that nowadays. It wouldn't be hard for him to figure out."

"He said he left the room to make the call though. What if he didn't use a cellphone?"

"...Also true, I suppose. I simply assumed that he was the type to carry a cellphone on him...but there is a chance that he didn't have one with him when he discovered the body. I should have asked..."

"We were told that the body was discovered at 8:15, weren't we? But now...I suppose that just meant the time they received the call, rather than the time Ozu actually went into the study and found the body. But...it's not like something like that would make much of a difference, right?"

"Don't be so quick to jump to absolute conclusions. Seemingly trivial information or small discrepancies will often prove to me more meaningful than you'd initially think. The fact that Ozu was so unsure about the exact time still...bothers me."

"Detective's intuition?"

"...Maybe..." Naoto trailed off, punctuating her incomplete sentence with a kind of dreamy, distant smile. He could only assume that she felt something that she found difficult to put into words...something indescribably abstract.

_Don't think. Feel._

He briefly considered saying it aloud...but he was fairly certain that Naoto would be the type to objectively disagree with that kind of philosophy.

Despite her words hushing into a floaty whisper, she didn't seem to budge. Souji presumed that she, in some way, wanted the conversation to continue. He took the initiative.

"You've grown to suspect Ozu a lot then, right? You really think he's the...'type' to do something like this? He isn't exactly the physically imposing type. I wouldn't really identify his disposition with that of a killer."

Naoto's shoulders shook...lips stiffening as she seemed to do her best to hold in a stomach-shaking laugh. Her face took on something unusual...a single eyebrow twisted upwards with a smooth half-smile to accompany it. She looked...'playful'. He wasn't sure if it suited her.

"Hmhmhm...Mr. Seta, I'm surprised. You, of all people, should be aware that you can't judge a book by its cover."

His expression became clouded. He could immediately think of a few examples...some more sinister and unsettling than others. Naoto seemed to cling to the negative brainwaves that spilled from her associates ears...her own face darkening as she spoke a bit more earnestly.

"Not too long ago...I was involved with a murder investigation. What started as a string of unexplained disappearances surrounding an unassuming suburb suddenly elevated into a frantic search for a serial killer once a dismembered body was discovered. On the first day that I was called in to assist in the investigation, I decided to spend a day around the town questioning anyone who might know something about the confirmed victims. After a very long day with little to no progress...an old man approached me. He must've been a man of around eighty or so...hunched over, soft-spoken...an old-fashioned, perpetually cheerful kind of man who smiled when there was nothing to smile about.. He complimented me very kindly on my success, despite my youth...invited me into his kitchen. He made a fresh kettle of barley tea and baked some frozen scones. I insisted that his generosity was entirely unnecessary...but he insisted on the grounds that if I didn't help him eat them, they'd simply go to waste. We drank tea and ate the entire batch of scones as he prattled innocently on...reminiscing and regaling me with stories of his youth. Over time, it became a routine. Every other day or so I'd visit him. We never talked about the case, only trivial things...nostalgic things, happy things. During the course of most investigations such as that, a detective doesn't make friends...only acquaintances. But him...he reminded of my Grampa. I enjoyed the time we spent together...looked forward to it. Given our current topic of discussion...I think you can imagine what it is that I'm trying to say."

Souji Seta's coiled his fingers together nervously. "...He was...?"

"The killer. Yes. Over the course of a year and a half, he killed sixteen people. Drugged them...dismembered them...froze them." She paused, presumably to stabilize herself. "...The freezer in which he kept the scones...was the same freezer in which he kept the body of his most recent victim. I saw him open that freezer countless times...but not at any moment did I suspect that a dead body had been buried and frosted inside. Back when I realized this...I became sick. He could've drugged and murdered me at any time, but he didn't. It wasn't until weeks after he'd been arrested that I realized just how close I came to being killed. Why he didn't do it, I don't know. He may have felt that it would've been too suspicious...or perhaps he received some kind of perverse pleasure from seeing me enjoying his company day after day. Either way, it's served as an important lesson to me. People often do things that seem contradictory to their nature. Bad people can do good things. In a situation such as this...it's best to keep your judgments in a secure pen. An adequate investigator must regard all possibilities with equal reverence. It's best not to allow yourself to fall into the trap of focusing on only one theory...lest you fall prey to self-fulfilling prophecy."

Souji's face had grown pallid...any vibrant color that had been throbbing in his cheeks bleaching away into a sickly bone-white. He nodded in understanding...finding that his leather-hugged fingers had begun to lace themselves together, hand to hand. Comfortless and stifling...the re-realization of the seriousness of his position caused his stomach to roll over.

Bodyguard. He was a bodyguard. That was okay, wasn't it? A big dog on a short leash was still a dangerous thing should anyone bearing ill will venture too close. Lurking dread...the stealthy fear and uncertainty that came with not quite knowing what in the world he was doing. He became uncomfortably mindful of the clothes he was wearing...the clothes that weren't his, the car that he didn't own, the estate that wasn't his home.

Naoto seemed to sense his worry, immediately changing the subject. "Yoshioka Yori! What do we know?"

"...Huh? Oh...the head maid? Nothing, I guess...besides that Ozu doesn't like her."

She nodded soundly. "He also implied that she was a heavy smoker...and possibly that she behaves or dresses quite...'lasciviously'."

"Mm-hmm...also, she delivered food to Daiki's study at 5:30, even though he had eaten a lot beforehand."

Naoto offered an expectant smile...giving a small hand gesture towards Souji. He took the hint. She wanted him to spill the rest of his thoughts.

"...Okay...so, Ozu pretty much told us that he thinks Yori did it. How do we know if he genuinely suspects her or if he's just trying to push attention away from him?"

"We don't."

"...Hm. Well, taking food to the man's room is pretty suspicious...but, from what we heard, she does it every day, doesn't she? That's kinda odd. Is Daiki the kind of person who eats out often?"

"Don't know."

"Who knows then. Maybe she brought Daiki something he didn't want people to know about. Did he drink?"

"Yes. His love for...that sort of thing was quite notorious around Shintate. Keep in mind, Ozu also testified that he was drinking wine during his dinner with clients. He doesn't seem the type to keep that sort of vice below the radar. I doubt she'd be sneaking him alcohol. Keep in mind before you jump to conclusions...there still exists the possibility that she really does bring him dinner every single day, and today was simply a miscommunication between employee and employer."

Souji coughed gently into his fist, coming to his own defense. "I know, I know...I'm just trying to think of anything possible. Ozu hinted that she dressed kinda...'loosely', huh? Doesn't seem like what a proper maid would do. Maybe she was servicing the boss under the table?"

Surprisingly, it took more than a moment for the implication to register with the detective. She nodded to signal that she got the clue. "You think they were having an illicit affair?"

"Well...Ozu wasn't exactly subtle with suggesting her...umm..."

"Lasciviousness?"

"Yeah, that. Was Daiki a womanizer."

Naoto hummed thoughtfully. "Yes...that wasn't exactly a secret either. As I've said, he wasn't particularly well-liked among the local community. Even when he was still married, there quite a few rumors about numerous affairs...though, to my knowledge, none of them were confirmed."

"So, maybe that then? Yori could've been gold-digging and Ozu, being the perfect son, didn't take too kindly to it. He might just be speaking poorly about her out of spite more than anything else."

Naoto raised her hand, palm forward and fingers clinging tightly together. "That's enough. We don't want to come to hasty conclusions...though, considering what we've seen thus far, it wouldn't be illogical to consider something like that. Let's just focus on the tasks at hand."

"Which are what, Detective?"

"Asking more questions or being called to the scene of the actual crime...whichever comes first, Mr. Seta."

He could see her mouth twitch as she spoke those last few words.

_Mr. Seta._

He couldn't tell if she enjoyed saying it or if she found it difficult to say. Before he could think to consider it, she turned away...removing herself from the comfortable railing and proceeding back down the stairwell. Souji followed closely, as if the pair were tethered together


	9. Invisible Pieces

_In which Souji Seta learns the meaning of induction…_

The call to personally investigate the crime scene came sooner than Souji had expected. The news excited Naoto whose gait hurried to match her eagerness. She walked swiftly and silent and yet she maintained presence. She didn't have to make any additional noise. She may as well have _been_ the noise.

'The appropriate equipment' had to be applied before actually entering the scene of the apparent homicide. Gloves, loose plastic 'suits', and 'booties' (which were about as awkward as the name sounded) were applied. The change in layered clothing severely dampened Souji's ability to intimidate, he worried.

The interior of the late patriarch's personal 'lair' was strangely toned down compared to the lavishness of his remaining estate. Perhaps, Souji surmised, he felt the need to retire to this room ritualistically every day simply to give his eyes a daily rest. The room was a medium-sized study stacked with books that may or may not have actually been read by the recently deceased patriarch. No windows made for a mildly claustrophobic experience which, strangely enough, was a comforting change from the overwhelming openness that was easy to become accustomed towards around here.

Souji had overestimated his stomach. A small of bitter copper hung in the air, the unmistakable acrid smell of recently spilled was an uncomfortable time for him to learn just how much more profusely head wounds bled than most any other; a simple scraping of the scalp could yield much more than deadlier wounds located on the body, and this was much more than a simple scraping.

Noisy black tarps guarded the perimeter to allow for more thorough inspection of the body without disturbing the crime scene. Naoto—had she the capacity—would've communicated to Souji that it was disappointing not to have gotten here sooner. _You only get one chance to see the true, untouched scene of the crime_ , she could have lectured. It was a missed opportunity that she would later pine over.

Investigators armed with cameras and notepads were just beginning to filter out as their individual tasks had been accomplished. Detective Takuji's insistence that the room was too crowded, it seemed, was no more exaggeration. The slick-haired, pearly-toothed sleuth himself stood apart from Naoto and Souji, pretending not to pay much attention to the competing detective's work.

The murder weapon appeared to be a golf club. Appropriately, it was the heaviest club in any golfer's repertoire: a sand wedge. No attempt at hiding it seemed to have been made as it lay carelessly slung by the victim. The tarp covering the body protected Souji from the horror of viewing the corpse directly but the nauseating stench of the room and the blots of blood spatter and the out-of-place sterility of the CSI equipment somehow made the experience more unnerving because of it. Souji wanted to see it but he also didn't want to see it. He wanted the finality but dreaded the acquisition. He wanted to be drunk but he didn't want to drink.

"Very little disturbance of the crime scene. Doesn't look like there was much, if any, of a struggle." It seemed like Naoto was speaking to herself but Souji quickly recognized that he was expected to dictate. He semi-competently scribbled her personal dialogue as best he could.

She continued speaking as he wandered carefully about the room. She maintained her aura of authority even while carefully stepping around unseen obstacles in sterile plastic booties.

"Last meal, presumably delivered by the head maid is…let's say, 'pecked at'. Even after his previous meal he seemed to find it difficult to resist sampling a bite or several. Steak au poivre paired with creamed spinach and glazed carrots would have been Monsieur Vavasseur's last meal.

She continued, hovering her hands above that which she described without daring a touch. "Wine…in contrast to the food, he had plenty; a 2000 Aussone, almost empty. Let it be known, to his credit, his taste was as admirable as it was expensive."

Her crime scene narration had a noticeable poetry and prose to it. It may have been a side effect of her mystery novel fascination. Souji, realizing this, continued to record as accurately as he could without paraphrasing. The smooth, hollow-sounding scratching of pen against paper made for a captivating rhythm to accompany the detective's way of speaking.

Inevitably, she made her to the body itself. She inspected it casually without flinching; Souji, with a touch of shame, looked away in disgust as she raised the plastic covering that concealed the corpse's face.

"Extensive blunt force trauma to the face and upper neck," Naoto continued. Her poetry left her and her language become precise and sterile. "Numerous grievous blunt wounds presumably delivered by the murder weapon: a 40 ounce steel sand wedge. Excessive blood spatter. Skull has been…completely caved in. Skin is…"

She trailed off. She rose to her full height and her posture straightened in such a way that any military recruit would be instructed to imitate.

"Takuji!"

The chatter ceased. That single word has as well have been a gunshot. It was a word spoken in such a way that attention was demanded, the vocalized equivalent of an aggressive exclamation point.

Takuji, who had been grinning humorously just moments before, became very serious. He waved away the officer he had been talking to and strode towards the much smaller detective with an aggressively reserved swagger. Naoto motioned him yet closer and cupped her hand to her mouth. Souji began to step forward but Naoto eased him back with a single open palm. Still, he was able to catch bits and pieces of what was spoken.

_Coroner. Cause. Suspect. Trauma. Yori._ Souji was able to catch wind of those words but not with the confidence that would've allowed him to write them down. Takuji responded with an expression Souji didn't quite recognize—though, if he were to describe it he'd say it was 'begrudgingly agreeable'.

_I like vanilla but that isn't what I ordered._ That's what his face said.

#

"I need to see Yoshioka Yori." Naoto declared this to Souji once they were outside of the crime scene and 'bootie-free'.

"I think we still have a lot of questions for Ozu," Mr. Seta responded.

"I suspect him the least right now."

Mr. Seta blinked twice in succession. It wasn't a shock of a surprise but he still found the evaluation strange. "Why's that?"

Naoto smiled broadly, _childishly_ even. She gestured with a single hand, prompting her bodyguard to hand over the notepad he'd been urgently recording within. She flipped through it with casual precision, with careful sloppiness, with careless perfection. "Mr. Seta, do you know who Father Brown is?"

"No, I can't say that I do."

"Sherlock Holmes is often praised for his powers of deduction, but I think Father Brown was equally as impressive."

"So he's a fictional character?"

"Well, of course, but that doesn't subtract from what I'm saying! Father Brown was very much the opposite of Sherlock Holmes in his investigation strategy. Father Brown solved his cases using induction, intuition, and knowledge of human nature rather than Holmes's rigid deduction. He was a priest who, in listening to the confessions of his clergy, came to have a very detailed understanding of the guilty mind."

She dramatically tugged on the brim of her cap and steadied her speech in a rare showing of energetic drama. "You see, Mr. Seta…I had murdered them all myself! I had planned out each of the crimes very carefully. I had thought out exactly how a thing like that could be done, and in what style or state of mind a man could really do it. And when I was quite sure that I felt exactly like the murderer myself, of course I knew who he was!"

Naoto chuckled self-consciously after finishing before handing her assistant back his notepad, rubbing at the back of her neck as she did so. "My apologies. It's just that I think I have a good idea of what happened. I need to see Yori. It won't stitch everything together but it may get close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we finally have some things that are recently written. A very short chapter but the next few will be of a more general length. I considered combining this and the next chapter into one but thought against it.


	10. Dog Tricks

_In which Souji Seta learns to fetch..._

Yoshioka Yori was a statuesque, joyless woman nearing her thirties. She held no pretense of continuing duty or servitude following her employer's demise; she had the look of someone who had given up on something but didn't care for the loss of it to begin with. Smoke lazily rolled from her lips and puffed from the cigarette hanging loosely from her mouth. A nearby ashtray betrayed the possibility that this was only her first cigarette; from the look of it she'd been through almost a fourth of a pack recently, assuming all those smoldering butts were her doing.

Her uniform was surprisingly drab—a modest servant's attire of dingy gray blouse and cream-white apron—and it contrasted with the level of detail with which her makeup had been applied. Hues of blush-pink and chocolate eyeshadow added shadowy detail to her serious-looking face—framed impressively with curly cascades of medium-brown hair. The toe of one her slip-resistant canvas pull-ons traced along the needlessly intricate grooves of the tiled courtyard's floor.

She finished her latest cigarette with a particularly long drag and mashed the shortened result into the ashtray beside her, one of those tall-standing public 'smokeless' models. The open-aired courtyard, encircled by flashy but enchanting rows of larch and red maple, seemed to be the ideal spot for staff who favored a smoke on their break.

It wasn't Ozu's less-than-flattering description that led to pair to her, nor was it Naoto's peerless detective's intuition. Rather boringly, Naoto had simply asked Takuji.

"Head maid?" Takuji had replied as he cleaned his teeth with the edge of a fingernail. "Probably in the main courtyard. Only real place to smoke. Unless she's retired to her quarters. You seen the servant's lodging in this place? I got a good place and even I'm jealous…not that you would be, huh? If everyone's testimony is reliable then that would be she's the last one who saw Daiki Vavasseur alive so we've been keeping an eye on her. Not that we've declared her a legit 'person of interest' or anything. Not _yet_."

Takuji had sucked on his teeth in apparent disdain and threw a challenging half-cocked eyebrow in Naoto's direction. "Don't forget that it takes a cop to make an arrest, Shirogane. Don't overextend."

_Don't overextend_. It was a futile sort of half-warning, an impotent threat. Souji, as inexperienced as he was, already knew that Naoto was well-aware of the limitations of her occupation. Souji knew it meant nothing, Naoto knew it meant nothing…Takuji, more than likely, also knew this but some lingering scrap of pride or bravado compelled him sound a reminder.

Naoto replied unflinchingly. "Understood. Detective, how much longer do you plan on staying?"

"Hn? Oh, I'm not even close to being done for the evenin'."

"Good. I may or may not need your assistance."

"Heh. You _may_ need my assistance, oh boy! Can't wait!" Takuji replied with venomous sarcasm.

"Or may not, Detective."

#

Yoshioka Yori regarded small, princely detective with hazy, half-lidded eyes. She looked tired; even through the application of her make-up Souji could identify the presence of persistent dark circles. Her posture and mannerisms, for the most part, were very relaxed and loose. Souji thought the tracing motions made by her foot might've been a kind of nervous twitch but he second guessed his own judgment as realized how slow and deliberate her movements were.

"Yoshioka Yori?" Naoto…no, Detective Shirogane. Souji…no, Mr. Seta, he had begun to pick up on how the tone of her voice shifted. It occurred to him now that he was working with two completely different people. There existed the Naoto who snuck him knowing smiles, who gushed about brilliant detectives who didn't exist, and who giggled a more freely; there also existed Detective Shirogane who didn't smile, who didn't gush, and who may on occasion elicit a boyish chuckle despite efforts to the contrary.

Yori seemed unimpressed. She was about a head taller than the one addressing her so she cocked her neck at an awkward angle to get a better look—or, more likely, to remind the detective of her height. Chestnut-colored hair spilled apathetically around the older woman's face and made a natural filter for her eyes.

"You're not a cop." Yori's voice was flat and music-less.

"Correct, Ms. Yori. However, I do-"

"I've already talked to the cops."

Detective Shirogane was undeterred. "I am aware of that, Ms. Yori, and I-"

"Then go talk to them, I already told 'em everything."

The detective cleared her throat quietly upon the second interruption before mechanically turning towards Mr. Seta. "Mr. Seta?"

"Yes, Detective?" Mr. Seta was playing his part well. He didn't turn his eyes away from the maid, continuing to stare at her with ghost-like gray eyes. He pretended to check his watch while using the face of it as a mirror to grab a glance behind him, all without losing sight of Yori for an instant.

_I'm a bodyguard_ , he thought. _The more you play the part the more it'll become a part of you. Act like a bodyguard and you'll be a bodyguard. Have to be attentive. Have to be serious. Have to be business-like. Behavior precedes essence._

Detective Shirogane continued. "Go and fetch Takuji. We don't have time to deal with a difficult suspect.

Yori huffed quietly before digging into her apron pocket for her pack of cigarettes (full-flavored, no filters). Mr. Seta had to remind himself that she wasn't just an ordinary maid, but the 'head maid'. Was this was passed for proper behavior for a high-ranking member of a rich man's staff?

Yori began to speak while in the middle of lighting the next nail in her coffin. "What do you wanna know?"

"I'll get to that in a moment," the Detective replied. "After Takuji is here. It would be more efficient to conduct this in official police presence anyway. Mr. Seta?"

Yori shrugged as she flicked away recently formed ashes. Her reaction was one of grim acceptance.

Mr. Seta adjusted his tie as he nodded, turned on his heel, and left to 'fetch' Takuji.

_Fetch!_

_Am I a dog?_ He thought. _Shall I sic 'em, Detective Shirogane?_

_#_

Mr. Seta, had he the steely wherewithal, would've returned with Detective Takuji hanging from his mouth like a trained doberman with the morning paper. It would've fit the mentality he was forcing upon himself more effectively than politely asking and walking shoulder-to-shoulder with the older man.

_Be a dog, why not?_ He thought. _Be loyal, be smart, be strong, be intimidating, be obedient. Isn't that what a bodyguard does? Am I okay with being a dog?_

_Mr. Seta is a guard dog,_ Mr. Seta concluded. _Souji Seta is a pathetic person but Mr. Seta is an admirable dog._

Takuji had made small talk on the brief, two-minute walk back to the courtyard. "You got hired pretty quick, didn't ya?"

"Excuse me?"

"That attack on Shirogane only happened a few days ago. Oh, or didja get transferred from somewhere?"

Mr. Seta didn't answer immediately. "Yeah…yeah, I was 'transferred'."

Takuji grinned, his broad teeth clenched. "Heard about the incident at the bistro. They, uh…they teach Shirogane bodyguards to headbutt people?"

Mr. Seta felt a slight warmness to his cheeks though he wasn't sure if it would be visible to the smiley, squinting lawman walking beside him. From his reaction he assumed that Takuji didn't but Souji (not Mr. Seta) would still think worryingly about it later. Of course he'd know. He's a cop, of course he would. Mr. Seta avoided the semi-conscious temptation of plucking at the adhesive bandages still covering his forehead.

"They do not," Mr. Seta replied while squaring his eyes forward. "I learned that elsewhere."

Takuji's eyes narrowed. "They didn't teach you to go forehead to nose?"

"They weren't particularly learned teachers. Passionate, not learned."

Mr. Seta couldn't tell if this elicited a muffled chuckle or a shiver from the detective. Either would've been good.

#

Mr. Seta thought he heard chatter from Yori and Shirogane before he arrived back with his cargo in tow, but he dismissed it as unimportant. _If it's important she'll bring it up later_ , he thought.

Shirogane glanced back briefly to confirm that Takuji was present before snappily turning back. She began her line of questioning the moment that Takuji was within earshot.

"Ms. Yori, please tell me about the last time you saw Daiki Vavasseur alive."

"I already told the cops everyth-"

"I would like to hear it from you personally and I believe Detective Takuji will support this."

Yori, in sharp contrast to her adversary's stoicism, didn't seem to take very kindly to being interrupted. She took an extra-harsh drag of her cigarette and chewed briefly at the fatty tip of her bottom lip before she replied. "I brought him his meal at 5:30, same as I do every day. Then I left. The end."

The smooth scribbling of pen on paper communicated to the interrogating detective that her assistant was already taking notes, something that filled Naoto with a mild joy but only signaled to Detective Shirogane that it was fine to continue questioning.

"Vavasseur, from what I've been told, had a large meal with clients before returning home. Was this unusual?"

Yori wasn't making eye contact; her gaze careened off into the distance as she toyed with a strand of her hair. The head maid of the notorious Vavasseur estate had all the charm and attitude of a delinquent being lectured. "In a way…not really."

"Not really?"

"Mm."

"So it wasn't unusual then?"

"I didn't say that."

"So what was it?"

"It was what it was. Look, I brought him the meal just like I do every day then I left. I don't know if he ate it. Wasn't abnormal, wasn't normal. I just do my job. Got anything else?"

Mr. Seta, for the first time, jotted something down that wasn't verbatim what was being said: a speck of a sidenote that read 'stonewalling'.

Detective Shirogane cleared her throat softly. Briefly, she removed her cap and slid her fingers through her hair before replacing it. "Can you tell me about your relationship with Vavasseur?"

"He was my boss."

"Of course. Can you tell me about his son?"

An extra jolt of energy seemed to crackle to life within Yori. Her eyes flicked away from whatever distant nothing she had been looking at and took to regarding Detective Shirogane with a more serious attentiveness. "Ozu? He and Daiki wer-

"Not him, Aoki."

Yori stopped abruptly. She sucked sharply on her teeth and straightened her posture while using a foot to push herself away from the wall she'd been leaning on. Removing the cigarette from her mouth she began to twirl it, still-lit, in between the long, colored nails of her index finger and thumb. "Why?"

"Currently, he's the top suspect."

Takuji twitched but ultimately said nothing. He was experienced enough to know when an interrogator was being sneaky, it seemed. _I'll allow it to continue_ , he thought.

Yori grimaced and took a quick drag of her cigarette. Smoke bubbled up from her mouth as she spoke. "Why the hell w-…you know his medical history right?"

"Ms. Yori, I find it very odd that despite my family's relationship with the Vavasseurs I was not aware of Aoki's existence until I arrived this evening. Would you happen to know why?"

Yori stammered. Her teeth clenched and, for a moment, it looked as if she'd bite her cigarette roughly in half. "What does th-…" She trailed off before resuming, answering the question properly. "Aoki's the black sheep of the family. He's not a secret bu-…but he is. They say he's not a secret but we all know he is. He has medical problems and hates to socialize. You weren't told because I guess they don't think he's that important. Now l-, why do you think Aoki did it?"

"Ms. Yori, I can't help but notice that, upon mentioning Aoki, you became much more talkative."

Yori was silent.

Shirogane continued. "Did Aoki like his father?"

"He couldn't have done it bec-"

"Because he's afraid of blood, I know."

"Then _why_ are yo-"

"What, Ms. Yori, was Aoki's relationship with his father like?"

Yori was up in arms. She took one last drag of her cigarette before spatting it out and letting it singe into the tile floor. "Want to hear it? Fine! Daiki Vavasseur was a fat, stupid piece of shit who treated Ozu like a pet and Aoki like a burden! Daiki didn't like Aoki, Aoki didn't like Daiki. So the hell what!?"

"Ms. Yori," Shirogane pleaded emotionlessly. "Please calm down."

"How am I supposed to be calm when some…CHILD of a private eye or whatever you are just walks up to me and talks abou-" She stopped abruptly. Pinching the bridge of her nose she took in a long, shaky breath of air before allowing it to hiss back out through her nostrils. "I've helped take care of Aoki, I've talked with him, yeah, okay? I like the kid and I didn't like his dad so I get…I get worked up I guess, sorry. What else do you want to know?"

"Tell me about the last time you saw Daiki Vavasseur alive."

Mr. Seta saw some of Yori's veneer come undone, the mask she had built with bricks of apathy and uncooperative stubbornness falling away liked chipped paint.

"I brought him his meal at 5:30. He was full but that didn't matter. I brought him his meal every day at 5:30 without question. Even if he wasn't hungry he took wine with it."

"You left immediately after delivering the meal then?"

Yori took a pause. From the twitching of her fingers it looked as if she were about to reach for her cigarettes but decided against it. "No…I stayed about thirty minutes, maybe more. Then I left."

"Why so long, Ms. Yori?"

"...Because Daiki Vavasseur and I were having an affair."

Yori didn't seem ashamed to say it. She was resolute. The aura the woman exuded was far different from the vague, distant aloofness that had pervaded her before. She stood with her shoulders squared, her eyes focused and her arms held firmly to her sides.

Takuji looked away quickly, hiding the pursed lips of an 'Ooooooh!' reaction. As a cop and Shintate local the news gave him at least something of an excited, gossipy shock.

Shirogane, unfazed, continued. "Daiki is a widower, isn't he? Would you consider having relations with a single man to be an 'affair'?"

"It is when you're paid not to talk about it," Yori snarled.

Mr. Seta fought the urge to squirm. It didn't take long for Yori to go from untouchable to a volatile and threatened. It was a different kind of manipulation compared to how the detective had treated Ozu. Detective Shirogane wasn't just intellectually analytical, she was emotionally analytical. It was effective, of course, but some aspect of it, some heartlessness of it made Mr. Seta feel uncomfortable.

_It's getting results_ , he reminded himself. _It's making her honest_. Honesty was always more painful than lying.

"Does Ozu know about the affair?"

"Ozu knows everything about what Daiki does, yeah. Hated him for doing it, hated me for doing it, but h-"

"Does Aoki know?"

Yoshioka Yori looked like she'd been stabbed but hadn't realized it yet. She breathed uneasily and, just for a moment, didn't seem to know what to do with herself. Her eyes scrambled, her hands flailed gently…finally, she gave a dejected sigh and brushed her hair back, hooking a handful of strands behind one ear.

"...No. No, I don't think he does, I don't thin-…that has nothing to do with the case, not really, he doesn't have to hear about it. Nobody does, I don't _care_ , but Aoki, he…no, no I don't think he knows and I don't think he should."

"If the police find the information is relevant then it'll be brought up, but they do have a certain level of discretion that they mu-"

"Why do you suspect Aoki?"

Detective Shirogane paused but briefly before elaborating, crossing her arms as she did so. "He had the opportunity. If your testimony is true then had the motivation. Ozu was in Daiki's good graces, as far as I can tell, and you wouldn't receive any real benefit. Aoki, on the other hand, could've potentially gotten a sizable payout and gotten rid of his abusive father. It would certainly make the most sense."

Yori fumed. "Did you even see the body!?"

"Did you?"

Yori's eyes widened. Sweat dappled at the edges of her forehead, pushing stubbornly through the dense wall of her foundation. "What's everyone been saying!? What have the cops been saying!? He got beaten in the face with a golf club, right!?"

"This is true."

"Right!? Right!? Did you know Aoki was afraid of blood? That he faints at the sight of it!?"

"Yes, Ms. Yori, I was aware. However, it's irrelevant. Daiki Vavasseur wasn't beaten to death. He was strangled."


	11. Wanted Lie

_In which Souji Seta sees the ugliness of truth…_

"What?" This word was not a word; It was more of a gasp or a sigh. It was ghost-like, a fleeting breath of an almost-word that just barely tickled the back of Souji's teeth.

He composed himself almost instantly; his lips tightened and his (scary) eyes narrowed. A barely-there wrinkle formed within the sharp angle made at the point where his eyebrows were the closest together. He plainly recorded what had just been spoken and the tip of his pen hung motionless as he waited out the brief silence.

 _If it's important she'll bring it up later._ He had thought that and not very long ago. His thought may have become true but for him some reason he couldn't identify it left a sour uneasiness in his stomach.

The space of the courtyard, he was just realizing, had become full of sharp contrasts but no contrast sliced sharper than the one between Detective Shirogane and Yoshioka Yori. Yori herself was a woman of contrasts and oppositions; the softness and dull but sweet colors of her makeup somehow melded appropriately with dark lines of her face. She seemed like a professional in aloofness but an amateur of passion. The simplicity of her attire—modest and plain and colored only in dull grays and whites—seemed like a counterpoint not only to her own demeanor but to the gilded environment in which she worked.

Detective Shirogane possessed none of these absurdities. Yoshioka Yori was a mishmash of eccentricities that had found a way to work together but her 'opponent' had nothing but parts that were made for each other. She was a clock; and like any well-made clock she was purposed with showing only what was true.

The detective spoke with all of the clarity and seriousness of a seasoned university lecturer . She began to pace as she did so and yet the sound of her voice never seemed to get further or closer to anyone present. Mr. Seta concluded that it was probably a trained skill. She was no longer addressing Yori individually but, instead, addressed all present company.

"The investigation began with the false premise that Daiki Vavasseur was beaten to death. The coroner would've noticed very quickly but, unfortunately, he was in the middle of an autopsy when the body was discovered. This is a peaceful town built for the luxury of the idle rich so, naturally, the local police were a bit too…'squeamish' to discover this."

Takuji grumbled, but the begrudging smile that slithered through at the corner of his lips betrayed an agreement. It was the face of a man who knew he had it good but hated that he did.

She continued. "Pinhole hemorrhages around the throat,ligature abrasions, cyanosis of the skin—all of these things tell us that Daiki Vavasseur was strangled to death. The blood spatter on the body and neck are also completely unsmeared. Therefore, Daiki had to be strangled first and then his corpse was mutilated after."

Takuji interjected. He caught the attention of those present with a crisp snap of his fingers punctuated with a shrill whistle. His clean, white smile was so broad and toothy that it stretched out the skin of his face and smoothed over some of his wrinkles. It occurred to Mr. Seta that he may actually be a little older than he looked. "Daiki was a big, big man. Hard to overpower a guy like that. _But_ there was also no signs of a struggle in the room. Considering the testimony we've gotten from staff and the empty bottle of wine we found in the study I'd say it's a safe bet that he got too drunk and passed out before the murder took place. Autopsy will tell us his blood alcohol."

Takuji clenched his hands demonstratively around his throat. Mr. Seta was the only one to notice Detective Shirogane's reaction. The fluidity of her movements suddenly ceased and her joints tightened. The fingers on one hand began to outstretch as if she meant to throw it out and catch whatever Takuji was about to say.

Takuji spoke in ignorance of whatever mistake the other detective seemed to think he made. "It only takes about eleven pounds of pressure to completely shut off oxygen to the brain. If Daiki passed out and if Aoki can apply just eleven pounds of pressure then he could have done it."

Detective Shirogane's sudden tension eased but didn't disappear completely. However, like any well-made clock, she righted herself quickly just as the finest timepieces occasionally skip ahead to make up for fractions of leap seconds.

"...Thank you, Detective Takuji." _I was getting to that but thank you_ , Mr. Seta completed her statement in his head.

The older man cocked his head and clicked his tongue, apparently unaware of whatever blunder he had almost made. "You should count yourself lucky, Ms. Yori! A lazier investigator might've just assumed it was you from the start!"

A fresh rhythm drummed within Detective Shirogane's approach. It was subtle to the point where even Mr. Seta doubted it momentarily, but after years of separation he was already once more learning her quirks. Takuji had redeemed himself somehow and she spring-boarded off of his statement with tactical precision.

"It would've been a mistake to assume Aoki innocent simply because of his medical history. Even if he's not involved with what happened, overlooking him could spell the difference between a proper conviction and a false one."

Takuji enthusiastically agreed while drumming his fingers against his cheek. "We still got more suspects. There was nothing preventing any other staff members from being on that floor other than the rules. I'll get search warrants for the manor and we can start thinking about arrest warrants once we've narrowed down alibis and really combed the place."

Mr. Seta couldn't tell if Takuji's nonchalant disregard for the concept of 'need-to-know basis' was intentional or not. What he did know, however, was that his own detective wasn't just tolerating it but welcoming it. They spoke as if Yori, the woman standing within earshot wearing an unreadable expression, was not a suspect.

Mr. Seta couldn't quite tell the intent. _A trap being set_ , he thought. _Or testing the waters and seeing what surfaces._

He saw within Yori a sudden change; it wasn't extreme but it was very significant. Mr. Seta had seen this before. There were two ways to make difficult decisions. There were those who ripped away there reservations like stubborn hair-stuck bandages, those who acted as quickly as possible before their brains caught up with their decisions. Yori wasn't like that.

The decision she had made didn't result in panic but in tranquility. Her acceptance of the consequences was prompt, graceful, and burdened with the full understanding of exactly what it was she was doing. The slack returned to her posture and a certain looseness returned to the angle of her hips as she calmly lit yet another cigarette and indulged in a long, relaxing drag. She spoke grimly yet humorously.

"Shiiiiit. Forget it if it's gonna turn into all this." She shrugged her shoulders and smirked, hands slightly raised and palms facing skyward. "I did it."

Takuji stammered. "Now now now hold on now, what are you saying?"

Yori's smile tightened as her eyebrows narrowed. "I confess! Arrest me! I killed Daiki Vavasseur."

"Ha…haha! And you're confessing for what reason now?"

She still held the cigarette in her mouth even as she thrust her hands forward in welcoming of handcuffs. "Eh."

"Eh?"

"Eh. I thought if I waited things out I could get away with it…but forget it. I'm not ashamed of what I did anyway. I'm not the best person in the world, obviously, but that doesn't mean I want to see someone else go to jail for this. They may as well be swiping an award from me."

Takuji began to reach for his phone before Shirogane interrupted him. She held a palm over his wrist as he attempted to bring the phone to his ear. They exchanged a serious glance before Takuji surrendered and slipped the phone back his pocket.

She strode towards Yori with a quickness that seemed too great for the length of the smaller woman's legs. She gestured towards her bodyguard. "Mr. Seta, closer. I need you to hear and transcribe _all_ of this."

He was somewhat taken aback by the blunt coldness of the request. No, Souji was somewhat taken aback. Mr. Seta expected it and he responded appropriately. He stood slightly to the side of the pair as an 'impartial' judge who just happened to be on one of their payrolls.

Yori knocked off some fresh ashes into her hand before remembering that there was no longer a need for her to keep the place clean. She waved her wrist and let the powdery char cloud over the immaculate patterned tiles. She looked to Mr. Seta only briefly with an elegant coil of a confident smirk. Her eyes, perpetually half-lidded, were both mellow and intense.

"Yoshioka Yori. Are you confessing to the murder of Daiki Vavasseur."

"Mmhmm."

"...Ms. Yori, please. We are being transcribed."

"My mistake, sir. I'm being transcribed? Word for word? This guy's writing exactly what I'm saying? Right now?"

"Ms. Yori-"

"I just want to make sure he's getting all this. Are you getting all of this, Oddjob?"

"Ms. Yori. Are you confessing to the murder of Daiki Vavasseur?"

"Yes. I, Yoshioka Yori—28 years old—am confessing to the murder of my boss, Daiki Vavasseur."

"Ms. Yori, I would like you to describe your actions to me in detail."

Yori was polite enough to blow her smoke from the side of her mouth _not_ facing 'Oddjob'. She proceeded through her story with few pauses. Her eyes darted indecisively between Detective Shirogane and her own fingernails.

"I brought Daiki his meal at 5:30. He was already drunk. He got too drunk to get it up and then he got even drunker and passed out on the floor. That's when I decided to kill him. I choked him to death and then I beat his face in with the heaviest golf club I could find from his personal set."

"Why do that? You created completely unnecessary evidence. If you had the objective of at least hiding that you did it then it would've made more sense to strangle him to death and leave the body be."

Yori chuckled darkly. "Gonna make a great hook for the movie they eventually make out of this, huh? I didn't like him! So I beat his face in! Why should somebody like that get a pretty corpse? I wasn't thinking about getting caught or not getting caught. I just did it."

She continued while speaking through the drag of her own cigarette. "It was almost perfect, actually. I _could_ have gotten off clean, I think. After I was done I left the study and I went straight to my live-in quarters and didn't run into a soul. I washed up and changed uniforms. I tried to clean the blood out of the other uniform; cold water, ammonia, and cotton swabs. You'll find it all there. I guarantee no one noticed that I ever changed clothes."

It occurred to Mr. Seta another reason why Naoto had held little suspect of Ozu. He didn't seem the type to do his own laundry…or own two identical pieces of clothing that weren't socks. Hiding his blood-spattered clothing would've been extremely difficult. For Yori, meanwhile, it was almost like part of her regular job.

"To clarify, Ms. Yori, are you claiming that Daiki passed out on his own with no intervention from you whatsoever?"

"Correct. Right after he couldn't get it up he just—" She snapped her fingers, "—went to sleep because of the booze. I want that written down, by the way; that he couldn't get it up."

He wrote it down.

"Then you strangled him to death?"

"Correct."

"And then you used the sand wedge from his own personal set to bludgeon the corpse's face numerous times."

"I sure did, sir."

"You didn't attempt to hide the club. Did you try to wipe it for prints?"

"Didn't have to. I'm a maid. I had gloves on me. I used heavy rubber ones, not latex. I read once that fingerprints can show through thin latex gloves."

"So you took precautions?"

"Yeah."

"Then earlier, when you said you 'weren't thinking about getting caught or not getting caught'? That isn't quite true, is it? You thought ahead enough to purposely hide what you thought would incriminate you."

Yori took a moment to consider whether or not this was a problem and came to the conclusion that she didn't care. "Maybe it wasn't. I don't know. Part of me was thinking 'don't get caught' and another part of me was thinking 'just do it'. Doesn't matter either way. I killed him."

"Did you take any other precautions, Ms. Yori?"

Yori flexed one shoulder and rolled her eyes. "I thought I covered all the bases with just the gloves and not getting caught with blood on me."

Detective Shirogane stalled like a jet reaching its peak. She had heard something important though Mr. Seta wasn't quite sure of what. Her engines stuttered with fire and she realigned herself. "Why kill him? Why not just quit?"

"It's not obvious? 'Cause I hated his guts. He was an obnoxious, abusive idiot of a human being and the only reason anybody ever tolerated him was because he had money." Her voice rose an octave and the faint wrinkles beneath her eyes deepened and darkened. "I hated him. _Everyone_ hated him and I was just the first person to finally get sick of it. The money wasn't worth it and living freely isn't worth letting him be alive."

"Did Daiki's treatment of his sons effect your motivation?"

Yori's face tightened to the stillness of a vengeful sculpture. Her cigarette, now having burned to but a meager nub, now tumbled between the rising and falling of her knuckles. "…Yeah…yeah, it did. Ozu's a prick but he's not his dad. Aoki's a…a smart, gentle kid and that old man treated him like less-than-nothing. I've worked here for years…in a lot of ways I was employed to care of that idiot and his brother. They…they deserved better and now they got it."

"They got it when you choked a man to death, Ms. Yori." The detective's expression intensified. "And it's questionable if it will be considered a crime of passion considering the premeditated nature of it. Did you slip on your gloves even before you strangled him?"

Yori smirked and leaned forward. "I didn't want to feel that slimy skin of his. I could barely even fit my hands around his frogsac of a throat."

"I doubt hiding your prints around his neck was merely an afterthought considering that you chose rubber over latex. It would've been wiser to use a length of rope or something similar…or did you _want_ the satisfaction of using your hands?"

Yori's shoulders bounced with a satisfied, gritty cackle. "Oooh, thank you for the advice, sir! Let's go with that. Yeah. I wanted to feel my hands around his neck when he died. It was po-e-try." The word bounced in a surprisingly playful way.

Naoto turned towards Takuji who gave a nod. Apparently satisfied, he lit up his phone and began making calls. Naoto turned back with an unusual look of gentle sympathy. Those dark intelligent eyes that had been aggressive and focus just moments before bent with a sad, distant gravity.

"Thank you very much, Ms. Yori. You've…been an immense help. I'm sorry that it has to be this way."

Yori gave a confused smirk. "What? I'm the one who confessed here so I don't—" She trailed off. A few odd words from Takuji had whizzed by her ears. "…What's going on?"

Naoto steadied herself and lowered the brim of her hat. "Whoever strangled Daiki Vavasseur did not use their hands, Ms. Yori. The abrasions make it clear; an object like a rope or a cord was used."

Her voice weakened as she spoke and her sentence faded off into nothing. She removed her cap and kept it held by the brim beside her hip. "Ms. Yori, if you're trying to protect Aoki then…well, I can promise you that his health and whatever he may have suffered from his father will absolutely be taken into account."

A strange hollowness overtook the depths of Yoshioka Yori's eyes. Her features shook as she seemed to wrestle with what had been said. Her lips finally curved into an angry sneer and the muscles of her arms stiffened. "That's…no, I—…I strangled Daiki Vavasseur with my hands!"

The strange sincerity to her voice deeply unnerved Souji. It wasn't the voice of someone who had guessed wrong but the voice of someone who had been absolutely certain.

Yori took a step forward and her elbow bent back slightly. "You're _lying_! You tricked me and now you're _lying_ to me!"

Naoto took an urgent step back. Mr. Seta took an even more urgent step forward and placed his body in between the pair. A portion of Yori's rationality returned to her and she backed off with her aggravated confusion simmering away into a sad bewilderment.

Takuji noticed the commotion and put his calls on hold. He had already rung in most of what was urgent anyway—warrant requests and suspect updates. The smiley older man—who present wasn't so smiley—approached solemnly with one hand already holding a set of plastic flexicuffs.

"Yoshioka Yori, you're under arrest. Desecration of a corpse and tampering with a crime scene."

Yori winced and she raised her eyes defiantly. "I confessed to the murder!"

Takuji was undeterred. Yori reluctantly complied and was handcuffed within seconds. "I'll be honest with ya—the courts don't care about confessions. They care about culpable evidence. It won't get ya convicted, ma'am."

 _But it'll put someone at ease_ , Souji thought. _Even if the confession is a false one, simply confessing and being prepared to go to jail makes someone more honest. And both detectives knew that._

The grim reality of it all dawned upon Yoshioka Yori and her body shuddered. She gritted her teeth and stared hatefully at the room. Takuji suddenly felt an uncanny resistance from her.

"Dammit…dammit, goddammit…" Yori muttered, shaking her head slowly and locking her knees. Takuji attempted to hoist her up but she resisted.

Her knees hit the floor and her body lurched forward. Takuji, embarrassed on her behalf, winced and gave a half-hearted plea. "Don't do this."

Yori's forehead hit the ground with a dull thump. It was the sound of an object falling with no force but also no resistance, the equivalent of dropping an inanimate object from four feet up. Every attempt to lift the woman back to her feet was met with a stubborn jerk and yet another 'thump' of her head smacking the ground.

Yoshioka Yori begged and prostrated for the first time in her life. Within her lifetime she had done so many things which she wasn't proud of; she had kept quiet when she knew she shouldn't have, she had borrowed without asking from people who couldn't afford to be lenders, and she had burned the bridges that once saved her from falling into rushing, wet blackness. But she never begged.

She had gambled and she had cheated. She had accused falsely and she had feigned innocence when accused. She had cried on command when it suited her and she had spat at the tears of another when it also suited her. But she never begged.

She didn't beg when her mother disowned her. She didn't beg when she was mugged outside a pachinko parlor in Kabukicho even though her winnings were all that stood between herself and an eviction notice. She didn't beg when the food was low or when the water was cut off or when she had a knife poised at her throat. Not once. Never.

But, now, Yori begged. Her limp hair created a morbid curtain that pooled around her shoulders as she pressed her forehead to the floor. "I did it."

Takuji let go of her and awkwardly rubbed one of his temples. He'd encountered this before but never from someone who wanted to be charged with murder. He backed off temporarily and slipped his hands into his pockets. He waited quietly for Yori to be finished.

Souji, having less of an idea of what to do thanks to inexperience, darted a look towards Naoto. She glanced back and gave a subtle flick of her fingers. Souji kept writing.

Anxious silence followed.

It was Detective Shirogane who finally shattered it—perhaps the only one capable. Her reaction to Yori's deep bowing wasn't of softening gentleness but of steely resolve. She hardened herself. She became a clock.

"Ms. Yori, please stand up."

She choked. "I did it!"

"We'll see where the investigation leads."

Yori raised her head only to glare hatefully at that person she saw as a thing—a machine that either pretended that it felt or thought that it felt but in actuality felt nothing. "Why the hell isn't this enough!? A horrible person is dead and you can send a horrible person to prison for it!"

"Ms. Yor-"

"You _know_ he deserved it!" Yori choke-shouted. Her gravely smoker's voice strained to an uncomfortable pitch and broke into a painful sound like squealing bicycle brakes. "Your family and his? There's no way you haven't heard the things about him! I don't even know what you've heard but it's all probably true anyway! You didn't even know he had a second son! That's how deep that old man buried him!"

Yori's forehead hit the floor again. She struck it with a stiff thud and it was enough to bounce her back slightly. "I did it!"

The detective repeated herself. "We'll see where the investigation leads. Everything you and anyone else says will be taken into account but we cannot ignore what we know."

"Nobody—nobody's read it." Yori's body heaved and she sounded as if she were choking on her own spit which—when paired with her bowing position—made it look as if she were vomiting. She raised her head, which had been reddened by the earlier impact, and glanced towards Souji—a tall, frightening man she regarded as a silent and soulless thing who did as he was told and thought nothing of it. "Just…just forget it. Just change it, no one else has read it, nobody else heard. Just…"

 _Just tear it to shreds. Just burn it. Just pretend you don't know what you know._ Souji felt the intent of her words. He stopped writing and averted his eyes from her; he swiveled his gaze towards his detective.

Detective Shirogane's reply was blunt and emotionless. "It's not about what we want. It's about what's true."

Souji find it both admirable and frightening that the detective didn't look away from Yori. The distraught woman's eyes—crisscrossed with web-like veins and dilated with hate—flashed with more hatred than words could express.

 _I begged. I begged for mercy_ , they said.

#

Detective Shirogane and her keeper exited Vavasseur mansion at 11:47 PM. According to Takuji warrants for searches and arrests were being rushed. He justified the arrest of Yori with the insistence that a post-arrest warrant was possible in strenuous situations and declared that Aoki's detainment, while not immediate, was inevitable.

"Not like he's a flight risk anyway," Takuji said. "He doesn't have personal control over any finances and he's a NEET with more disorders than most people have teeth."

Naoto and Takuji spoke just outside the wrought silver gates that blocked off the illustrious manor from the considerably cheaper outside world. The sky was inky and starless which made it unsurprising once it began to rain.

Souji stood to the side of the conserving investigators while pretending to be distracted by the tightness of his gloves. The rain, which had begun as a light sprinkle, swiftly began to intensify; a downpour seemed imminent.

No umbrellas to be had. He should be holding an umbrella over his employer, he thought, while allowing the rainfall to soak him to his bones—silent and stoic and imposing as he did so.

He thought, for a moment, to remove his vest and hover it over her head like a true gentleman. The whimsical romantic notion of it made him cringe at his own nostalgic fantasies. Maybe if they were already at the Shirogane estate where he wouldn't harm her reputation or create unnecessary rumors. Maybe when the atmosphere was better. Maybe when things were settled and didn't feel 'off'.

"Detective, shall I pull the car around? The rain."

His in-character and business-like tone was strong enough to visibly surprise Naoto. Her shoulders jumped slightly and she turned quickly to him with rapidly blinking eyes. "…Yes…yes, that would be fine, Mr. Seta."

He gave a half-bow and left to do so. Takuji stared at the younger man's back inquisitively while remarking to Naoto. "You sure know how to hire 'em. What is he, ex-yakuza?"

She ignored his question. "I plan on remaining involved in this, detective."

Takuji cocked a slick black eyebrow. "You think Aoki did it?"

"There are only two things I'm confident about. One is that Yoshioka Yori mutilated Daiki Vavasseur post-mortem; the other is that Yori believes that Aoki is the killer. She didn't know an object was used to strangle Daiki, which implies that she either didn't witness the actual murder or that she witnessed it from an angle that made her observations unreliable. Why did Yori think Aoki did it? And what happened to the actual murder weapon? Those questions should take priority."

Takuji nodded. "Ah! Oh, by the way…if you're uh gonna be further involved in this, uh…well, I doubt any of the Vavasseurs will hire you as an investigator with the way this is going and we're not really hiring consultants at the precinct right n-"

"I'll do it pro-bono."

The older man chuckled, his smile stretching out his features and tightening the leathery look of his face. "Ohhhh, well if you put it that way, Prince! How about turning over those notes your assistant wrote."

The Cadillac, headlights passing through the falling rain like glowing fingers, approached and braked to a halt. Souji didn't wait for her to approach, instead stepping out into the thickening rain and placing a gloved hand upon the vehicle's passenger-side door. He waited solemnly.

Naoto refused to allow him to wait for more than a moment. She turned away from Takuji and ventured out into the rain while replying over her shoulder. "I'll fax them to you!"

He chuckled almost bitterly and flicked his hand up in farewell. He turned away and kicked at the ground with a childish yet masculine non-grace.

Naoto entered the vehicle and Souji—not quite soaked to the bone but still definitively soaked—clacked the sides of his shoes together before he entered the driver's seat to avoid muddying the mat.

Naoto stared pensively out into the dark through the fog-heavy window and they both allowed uncomfortable silence to overtake them as they drove into the night.

 


End file.
